It happened earlier this evening. I was finally able to accept fully that I do have a passion in life, a passion to write. Knowing that I do not have to die without a passion has diminished two of my death’s fears, the purposelessness and uselessness of my existence. It was a happy moment.
No event contributed to or reinforced this realization. No award, no compliment or no delusion that I was talented. The satisfaction came because I had received permission to own my passion, a gift from God, one for me to work on continually so that I can bring it home more polished than when it was given, to show what was gifted was not given in vain.
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