Sometimes I run out of words. And motivation. I get tired of hearing my own thoughts. I get empty.
Sometimes it just takes a good night's sleep to recover and I'm back on top again. Sometimes it takes a month. Or a year.
It's good that I run out. That stillness is boring. A little depressing. But it makes it clear that this is not about me. I don't make the world turn. It turns without me. I don't move mountains. Someone else has to do that. Sitting still long enough, I start to remember how insignificant I am—which sets me free.
Not that I don't have purpose, just that that purpose is small (like me). There's only a few people I can affect. Only a few hearts I can break. Only a few pages I can turn.
Unsplash photo cred: Nazar Sharafutdinov