Sitting at my desk toying with my earring, I had a thought that made me bite my lip and squeeze my legs together. It genuinely aroused me —the thought of only writing. It frightened me also.
I’ve been wondering how it would feel to wake up everyday and focus on words, only words, glorious words.
How would that feel in my bones, in my being?
How would it feel to conserve my social energy and transform it to kinetic energy as I plow through the elements of eloquence?
How would it feel to paint my passion, paint my rage, paint my hunger here on the page? How would it feel to do that daily?
What if… instead of prospecting, and networking, and going to meetings, and socializing with people when I hate socializing with people, what if instead of that predictable grief, I have the challenge of branding and content creating and writing sensual things?
What if that were my life?
Maybe not forever, but what about for now?