It’s not every day that we do the things that bring us the most joy, but it should be. We spend so much time living and reaching for our boss’ dreams that we forget about our own. Money and income become the mantra of the oppressed, drowning out our own hearts in their slow, horrifying rhythm. That’s the weight that I feel when I forget the click of the keys.
It might not be writing for you. Maybe it’s working out, or running, or yoga, or chasing the ever-elusive Jello sculpture. Whatever your dream -or your escape- taking that time and making it your own is the only way that you can overpower the humdrum beat of bills, mortgage, paycheck, repeat.
I know, I am preaching the sermon I need to be listening to. I guess, in that analogy, I am in good company with many flawed ministers.
Look, there is no bible for this. No right and no wrong. The only sin is to ignore that which makes you happy, those challenges which excite you. Worse than anything is the gut reaction we seem to have in suppressing the urge to create in favour of a mundane existence.
That’s not to say that working is obsolete. Or that you shouldn’t be showing up to your job, or that getting a paycheck is in some way lesser than. Really, all I am saying -and reminding myself- that in the pursuit of someone else’s success, we must stop putting ourselves second.
I don’t want to remember the click of the keys; I want to experience them. I want to submerse myself in the flow of language and dream in metaphor and allegory. I want to tell stories, make arguments, and sing the language out loud.