Wherein lies the conundrum: How can you meaningfully articulate the experience of being alive if you yourself are only in tune with the broken clockwork of your own anxiety, the echo chamber of your own skull?
The Irony of Loneliness
Dan Moore
1.2K48

When I had a work at home position for health insurance claims full time, I thought initially it was perfect. I could get so much done and I’d have that alone time I romanticized. I worked 2 years of it and between that, lack of adequate transportation, long hours, and parenting responsibilities, I fell off the wagon. It feels like it changed me and I’ve been trying to recapture who I was before these changes seamlessly occurred.

Unsolicited advice suggestion: (only read if you welcome it)

Coffee shops and libraries. Find a small local community, perhaps other writers or just artists in general. Even if it seems scary, it’s one of those things that creative-types should do to get their energy back. Take those chances that the comfort zone prevents you from. Even as an introvert, there’s something to be said about the energy of others who are somewhat likeminded.

Now let me fall off my soap box not-so-gracefully as I was just bold enough to relay encouraging advice, as a day job insurance peasant, to someone who legit writes for a living.

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