Although clearly recovering from my concussion, there’d been no sign of that delicious sense of well-being that usually washes through after an illness, producing energy. Energy wasn’t just out of reach. It was invisible. Maybe I’d lost the oomph, the impetus, to write. It’s so pleasant being lazy.
My only busy time of day was worrying while typical “what if I’m not good enough, what’s the point” doubts entwined with concerns that I’d lost the need to produce. Day after day, my computer and books and notes sat here glaring. I swear they were whispering mean things.
But yesterday, and again this morning, that euphoria, fresh as day. I’m working again.
Other setbacks have had more to do with family or professional pressures, and have served to spur me forward, to sort things out, find answers. I was fortunate that this illness was relatively short-lived. As I get older, I’d better be prepared for more, long and short. But it’s a relief to know the compulsion to write isn’t something I’m likely to run out of any time soon. There’s still a lot to (try to) make sense of, and more no doubt coming.
For those of you wading through setbacks long and short, I pray for euphoria.