This is what I should be doing

I have yet to feel what I imagine would be the rush of doing something I love with an intensity to match that love. And though my imagination draws images of it, I know the limits of imagination, and the distance one travels in doing.

And I think many people relate... do you?

But also, I think there must be some unseen part to this perspective, some unrecognized triumph that's been lost under piles of papers, mounds of effort. We stare and we stare.. and in the end all we see is a mess. But maybe... maybe also that mess is our triumph. Maybe this is more than an untidy room.

Am I letting myself get off the hook, too easily? Is this the talk of a mollified mouse, nibbling on a piece of cheese? where's the roar? where is the bristling mane?

To be continued...