Tripping over things

For the past year or so, I've been hatin' on my major (still officially creative writing), and what said major has gotten me into (editing and publishing). Hence the quarter-life crisis.

But every now and then, something tugs at my memory and reminds me how much I love to write, and even edit.

My good friend Britt (a fellow writer & feminist) came to town at the end of January for the first time since moving away over the summer. We went to a poetry reading and then out for a few beers. We ended up workshopping some poems in the bar. I fell back in love with writing, and called my mom the next morning to babble on about how wonderful I felt. It's hard to think I once felt that way all the time. My love of writing fueled everything I did, which explains why losing it left me stagnant.

The other day I was in the student publications office on campus, laying pages for this semester's issue of Cardinal Sins. And I found myself enjoying it (which is how it should have been all along). We were on spring break, so the campus was dead, and I think the stillness eliminated the pressure of deadlines and whatnot. It wasn't anything like the euphoria I experienced when Britt came to visit, but oddly, it was better, because it wasn't joy, it was contentedness--something else I hadn't felt in months.

It'd be easier for me to change my mind & do something else with my life if I didn't have these constant reminders of how much I love what I do.