Does everything that feels creative eventually fall to a place that feels dead?

My love for writing has grown disproportionately to my ability to understand what I’m doing along this timeline of being a writer.

This time last year, I was embarrassed to tell people about my blog. I was embarrassed to tell others I was a writer.

But also this time last year, I wrote with fervor. I pushed and pushed to be who I said I was.

Now, I believe I am that person, but I have little more to show for it than I did back then. Now the shame is gone, but the fervor is, too.

What has changed, if nothing has changed? If I’ve grown in security but shrunk in creation? Do those results cancel each other out?

I’ve settled into the person I desired to be. I’ve accepted her. Does that mean I grow bored with her? The same way I treat most partners when the relationship becomes “normal”?

I don’t want to be that kind of partner.

All these things must tie together. A series of romances that ended similarly—crash-burning when fantasy didn’t hold up to reality—must relate somehow to the relationship I began with creativity around when the first of the love charades began.

In them, I went along saying,

“Hey, the way we’re treating this isn’t realistic; you don’t know me well enough for these proclamations of love.”

And eventually—predictably—the strain of false hope weighed too heavily on ties that require the strength of years .

Yet typing that also reminds me of this: I was also the one saying,

“Hey, this is not realistic of us, but I will push forward anyway. I will give this a fair shot.”

Which means I’m usually not the one to leave—for better or worse.

And in a relationship with myself, maybe that’s exactly what I need. To be here, writing in the most boring of ways (edits, edits, edits) and know that on both sides, both Meggans are saying:

“Hey, this is not realistic of us, but I will push forward anyway. I will give this a fair shot.”

Your thoughts? I’d love to hear form you below…

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