#losttofound

From Lost to Found

For years I have been trying to quiet the dread, a nagging feeling of something missing. Unsure of its cause, I wondered if I was failing to reach my potential or falling prey to that insatiable thirst of the human condition to always want more. I was floundering, gasping for fulfillment like a fish out of water.

Like most, I have a hobby, a love for writing. Dreaming that someday, when I retire, or maybe if I win the lottery, I would move to a house with a first class view of a moody beach. There I would spend my days writing all day, every day. Maybe I would finally finish my book. But why did I need to wait? I didn’t need to, so I started writing.

My first major hurdle was struggling with the darkness of my book. The events were traumatic and reliving them for the sake of the story felt empty and unnecessary. By talking to friends who lived similar experiences I learned that sharing our stories helped us form a community. We learned ways to cope and found a sense of unity within each other.

It wasn’t the topics in the book that I had a problem with, but more of the chronological memoir style used to communicate them. The inspiration was missing. My biggest fear was that the book would isolate me from people, but just the opposite had happened.

It was through making the leap that I began to find answers that I sought for so long. Once I began to share my work, I figured out why my soul had been restless. After nearly a decade of waiting, things are beginning to make sense, I am moving forward, making progress.