Creative or naaa...

I often think about writing to you. Then the thoughts, the stories, the words escape me all at once.

Then it almost feels like I’ve forgotten how to create. That feeling is akin to death for me.

This season, I’m talking. Meeting. Thinking. Planning. For decades, I made something new every day. That was my rhythm. That was how I knew myself.

This isn’t bad news.

Maybe it’s a reminder. I still need to create. Even now. Maybe especially now. When I can, I need to create with everything I have. Make it meaningful. Go all out. Finish it. Whatever it is.

This letter is part of that.

I’m in the parking lot of CVS, waiting on allergy medicine and an inhaler. I’ve had a cough for a month and finally saw a doctor.

The mundane things never give in. They keep showing up. Bills. Errands. Sickness. Parking lots. Prescriptions.

So why should the creative parts give up?

Later,

DD