Incredible but true. I have been waiting for 3 decades for my muse to call me. Waiting for that bolt of inspiration to strike and unleash this well of creativity, I was sure, lying dormant in me.
All those restless hours of snuggling on my very comfortable couch laughing at Lucy and Ethel concocting ridiculous plans to entertain the world on CBS; all those fine sunny days of choosing to wait at home with a gallon of ice cream to bide my time over spending a sweaty hour at the Gym; all along waiting patiently for my muse.
Three decades, my friends, and not a peek, knock or a whistle from my muse. Today I woke up and decided to stop kidding myself. No muse is calling me and that is that. I have been growing old and dusty waiting for that elusive inspiration.
Au Revoir, Muse! I have got a lot of things to say even without your help and you bet, I am going to say it. The realization takes a load off my shoulders. It is not on me if I cannot write profound poetry or sublime essays or revered literary criticisms. Can you hold me accountable for the pale mediocrity of my writings, using the term very loosely? No, indeed not. My buddy Mr. Muse, as you all know, has deserted me and left me with no choice really.
With no pressure to create any masterpieces, I start my baby steps today to embark on a journey that, I hope, will take me on a road with many interesting twists and turns.
Here is to hoping that my little well never runs dry!