This e-mail came in from a friend:
“You are not blogging much and you sound massively discontent. I always come back to the old cliché question: What would you do if you didn't have to worry about money? What really makes you happy? Anyway -- I've found that simply seeking an answer usually produces one... even if it is unexpected.”
I’ve responded to her personally, but it does beg a blog post.
I am massively discontent – about 21 hours a day. There are times where I am content. Happy, even. It ebbs and flows and last seconds to even more than an hour.
There are issues, personally and professionally. My health is suffering.
But my heart suffers more.
I realized – especially during my recent roadtrip through the Midwest – that what I am most lacking in is human contact. Sure, I have acquaintances here, but I need more.
And I need to write again – for myself. I need the balance between putting out a newspaper each week where every inch of copy crosses past my eyes and writing what’s in my heart, my head.
Easier said than done.
Plans have been formulated. Things I need to bring to fruition.
And that’s the challenge.