A Writer Who Doesn’t Write?

I’ve been feeling restless lately… Haven’t posted on this blog in years. YEARS! What kind of writer doesn’t write for a few years? Does that make me a fake? A wannabe? Maybe. I just haven’t felt like I’ve had much worth saying. I could make excuses about being too busy, too stressed, too…something. Having writer’s block. Not feeling creative. All of the above. And yet, it’s all and none of those things.

The truth is, I haven’t really felt like I have anything to say that anyone really cares to read. Of course, I could talk about my dogs. I always do. I’ve actually got two now. But most people know that. I’ve had Lyla over a year now and I haven’t even mustered up the drive to blog about her. Sad, considering how much I love her and how much I talk about her and Landon otherwise. But I also know that people tire from listening to all my talk about dogs. (How I don’t know…I could listen to dog talk all day.)

I guess lately I just feel like I haven’t been really living a life worth writing about. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. While I am not unhappy, I am not content. I feel like there is more that I could be doing. I miss travelling. I miss exploring. I miss learning about new things, cultures, experiences. I miss the adventure of the unknown.

I miss…me. Or at least the me that I used to be.