When I started this series (or, rather, found a little fake energy through NOSC [non-ordinary-state-of-consciousness] philanthropy) two months ago, I had every intention of following through, but like so many other things in my life up until 05 February, that energy and interest dwindled. The cool thing about life is that it's never too late to start fresh and to take a different look at things and re-address something that's important to you in a totally different way. It's been an entire month since my last post, and that's okay. Things are good. Life is meaningful. I'm still not ready to openly discuss everything that I would truly like to here, but that moment is coming. Maybe sooner than I think.
My biggest fear in my life of recovery is that I won't be able to find my creative voice the way I was always able to when under the influence of that perfect beat. I am hereby making a public decision that I won't allow sobriety to get in the way of my ability to write, to paint, and to live a creative life. I know that Stephen King, the man who has no memory of writing Cujo, was able to overcome the idea of finding inspiration in a bottle or a pill or a line of coke. Although many of his earliest works are some of his best, he wrote Misery and his phenomenal On Writing after the fact. If the greatest modern novelist of the twentieth century can overcome a barrier like that, I feel I may be able to as well.
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