More often than not, I figure that it would just be easier to stop. Writing, drawing, playing an instrument, etc. They all take up time. They distract me from schoolwork, from getting a scholarship, from getting better at gymnastics, from helping others around me. In a sense, I would say that-yes-they are distractions. However, not all distractions are worthless. They serve not tangible rewards, but spiritual and personal ones.
They serve to haul me out of my depressive and anxious mood swing days.
They serve the fill the empty space when I can't stand the sound of my breathe anymore.
They serve to pour the aching words from my soul onto a page or into a picture or a song.
They keep me up at night, my room the only room in the house still lit, because I simply must finish.
These hobbies are a means to an end that I so desire, though I'm not sure what the driving or end factor is. Am I driven by success? Determination to finish what a start?
No. I don't think I am so much inspired as I am compelled.
I am compelled. I simply must.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
