Published via Ecency

Sitting under the street lights, I pondered on what I had just done.

I was starting to develop a superfluous attitude with respect to writing and I felt it. Dedicating 2 hours to writing each day wasn't something that I could do, but, I felt my passion was greater than the obstacle at hand.

A few days earlier, I'd just written an article about the passage of time and how we're oblivious to what's happening around us most of the time. I was promoted to write that article because of a project I completely forgot about due to procrastination and the future date for the project quickly expediting into the present.

The project was an important ones and I'd previously rambled about how quickly I needed to get it done to my friends- Bola, David and Collins.

All I felt after failing to meet the deadline for the project were different emotions ranging from regret to frustration. Now, I'd taken up a new task of writing for at least 2 hours everyday despite my busy schedule!

At that time, I was enthralled with the whole concept and idea of writing that I didn't pay attention to the details such as the time and what I'd be writing about, I just simply wanted to write.

Bola came by on one Sunday and she initiated a conversation;
Bola: Don't you feel you're putting too much pressure on yourself, Owen?
I: Nah, it's alright. It's what I do, after all, it would be a great way to improve my writing skills.
Bola: Hmm, if you say so, but, just take it easy on yourself.
End of dialogue.

I felt her concern through the tone of her voice and the weight it depicted, but, I was still engulfed with the whole idea of being a professional writer.

Then, it was the first day of work. I had to write for 2 hours on "Tips and guidelines for a healthy relationship".
'This? For 2 hours?', I thought.
A shiver went down my spine realising it was a daunting task. I was entrenched in idealism believing I could just write whatever I wanted for 2 hours and post. After all, that's how it's always been, I write what I like and well, that's it. This was on a whole 'nother level.

I shrugged off whatever little but slowly growing fear I had then, still drooling on the idea that this was the kinda thing that 'a professional writer' does. It was a way of telling myself that this could be my breakthrough moment, but, my word, I broke before I could make it through.

It was on the 3rd day it hit me. I couldn't do this no more. If you properly read the article I posted earlier in the picture above, you'd see how succint it was. That's my style and I was starting to be an emotionless writer, also being pleonastic in a bid to meet up the number-of-words requirements.

In a bid to reach new heights, I lost my passion for writing, altogether.

I stopped the work and although I was offered a compensation fee, it didn't make me feel any better.
The one thing, the very one thing that I used to communicate everything and anything, was slipping away from me.

I was digressing into a bottomless pit with no hope of reaching the surface, talk less of the crescendo of my writing career.

I stopped writing for a few months, just got used to seeing quotes that had no toll on me. I always searched for quotes and tips, hoping I'd see something, anything, that would motivate me to prolly make a comeback, but, it was to no avail.

My head was stuck in a limbo questioning if I made the right decision to give up on writing altogether when Collins barged into my room as he often does and we started taking.

Collins: Dude! What's up with you?
You're acting like a princess. If this thing bothers you so much, just start writing again.

I: It's not that easy, bro.
I need to connect again and that does not seem possible at the moment.

Collins: You've been dilly dallying all these while and you still haven't connected?
At least, try understanding how you feel.

End of dialogue.

That was it! That was the spark.
I forgot that when I started writing, I did it to express myself in ways that seemed ineffable with just mere words. I needed to find a way to release this frustration and of course, writing was the answer.

I wrote a poem depicting how my hunger for success overcame my passion for writing. It was exactly what I needed and I thank my friends for at least understanding me enough to realise what exactly was the problem.

Now, I'm basking in the unbridled joy that results from writing, not just any kind of writing, but writing that conveys my emotions and how much I want others to feel what I'm feeling.
I'm writing to y'all right now and it's proof that I've overcome my trial and I'm finding my feet again.

I wrote a poem to show how naivety and immaturity almost crumbled me into thinking I could have everything easy.