There have been many instances in my life where I have chosen to say a little lie, albeit a white one, to make sure that y loved ones did not get hurt. There have been many instances where I have lied to myself because it felt comfortable and good. But two years back, there came a time when I had to swallow a bitter pill of truth. I had to stop telling myself that I should continue working (in a field that did not interest me) because things would eventually get better.
Writing articles would give me a headache and I would be paranoid about making mistakes so much so that I would keep reading the same sentence over and over again. My brain, which would be brimming with ideas, suddenly started drawing blanks. I was miserable; and this was an understatement.
I wanted to quit working but earning money drove me but after a point of time I started getting anxious. Writing articles became a chore and I could not bear to get up every morning to do just that. I tried telling myself that it would be okay, but I was lying to myself and was clearly delusional. I was living like a zombie when one day, in the middle of the night when I could not sleep, I decided to face the truth. Writing no longer was my passion. It was difficult to accept it at first. Everybody, my friends and family included told me that I was great at it and it was just a rough phase that I was going through but I was determined.
I decided to take a break from work and start looking for alternate career options. That is when I chanced upon a course that was unique and refreshing. It was Rural Development. For a city brat like me, it was an extreme step; working in the villages in an unknown area that I did not even know existed. But the idea was so compelling, that I registered myself as one of the candidates.
The next three months were a blur. I passed the first round, gave an interview, wrote an essay, was selected and landed in Tuljapur with two huge suitcases.
This move worked like magic for me. Living in an invigorating environment with a wonderful library and lots of birds, animals and insects for company was a healing touch for my brain. I slowly started writing again. It was rubbish at first; I was completely rusty but the words started flowing again. I was not using unnecessary adjectives to describe things and I was writing well again.
Its been two years since then and I have realized that though I love writing, I cannot look upon it as a career. The very thought sickens me; but as a hobby, it is great. It was a difficult decision to take back them but not I am glad that I had the foresight to quit when I was down in the dumps and energize myself by doing something different, something I love. I am happy happy girl now J
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