"Pack your things up come on lets go, didn't you know that we own this world?"

I should be sipping dark coffee on a terrace someplace exotic and moody.  Somewhere with rich smells, wet dirt and cardigan weather.  A breaker in me flipped and I can't shake that deep soul yearning.  I want to explore!  I want to write.  I think half of the reason I'm having trouble writing is the fact I don't have anything to really say at the moment--not to the world anyways.  Nothing's really stirring me, stimulating my heart and soul.  Well, that's a lie--life events are--but I don't have that inspired giddy feeling. You know?  I know, I know, I should learn to write without that feeling--which, believe you me, I'm working on.  But I feel like a fool that keeps trying to stoke wet wood.

I feel kind of guilty about desiring the whole traveling thing even.  It's like there's this fat bastard, Southern Baptist preacher residing in me scolding, "Really?  You're gonna pay to go travel and 'explore' when there's starving people and missions trips you could be partaking in?"

The thing is though, I want both.  I want to see all sides of the earth.  I want the museums and mountains and villages and ghettos.  The cafes and the orphanages.  I want to go everywhere.  Experience everything!  But not just experience, I want to pour myself out.  I just keep feeling like I have nothing of worth to say.

How do you write a good story when you feel like you don't have very many of your own to tell?


Song of the Moment: We Can Live Anywhere! - Big D & The Kids Table (Fluent In Stroll)
This song is a glass of sunshine and bear hug to my soul.