Master of some

The other day I was feeling a bit unsatisfied with my pursuit of hobbies. I realised I had fallen into a trap: focusing my hobby-related efforts on levelling up.

There are things I can do in each facet of my life. Some of them well, and some of those that I can do well have been developed fairly recently. This demonstrates that I am more than capable of learning and getting better at things.

Hobbies, though, can feel more difficult for some reason. Like I'm practicing until I reach a sufficient level of mastery. Like I'm one of The Sims. I barely speak Simlish.

And I thought: why not do stuff that I already feel good at? Won't that both feel better and snap me out of a rut, if indeed I am in a rut?

(I'm probably not in a rut. Everything is fine.)

Next I thought: I am alright at writing. I can write. Why not write?

And later still, without warning or intention, I had an idea that could very well work for this story I had started making up a little while ago. A plot point. So I dug up my old notes from my hard dr(arch)ive, installed Obsidian on my (newish) MacBook, and kept working on it. And I even wrote some micro-chapter-esque chunks of prose.

An unintended side effect of this series of epiphanies and actions has been less blogging. Oops!