It’s so much harder to write when you’re happy.
When you’re drowning and overwhelmed by emotion, the thoughts pour onto pages as fluidly as water finally causing a rupture in a dam, but when you feel light within you, words become secondary. Nothing even begins to come close to the feeling of a thousand suns flooding your veins and the Earth thanking you beneath your feet. Every joyous synonym has already been overused and at some point, your words begin to seem insincere. It starts to sound forced even though there is nothing more natural than the free flowing jubilation in your skin.
Knowing all this joy, all this beautiful, genuine happiness is all your own is more liberating than words can begin to express. It arose from within you, not caused or relying on any other person. It was planted and took root in the soil of your soul and grew into a celestial beacon from your body alone. This light is yours.
Although writing now takes much more, I don’t mind. I am happy. Gosh, I am wholeheartedly, genuinely happy and I myself am the very source of all that exhilaration. No person or season is the reason behind this inexplicable glow; I own it. How long has it been since I have been able to say I am the root of my own happiness? Far longer than I remember or care to admit. This is a personal revival, a revolution.
So forgive me if my posts are fewer; vivacity has found it’s way back to me and I am learning to speak it’s language all over again.