I took this photo late last August in Hungary. We were on that wonderful cycling trip around Lake Balaton and everywhere we looked there were fresh figs or pears or something bursting out of a branch. .

But looking at this photo had me thinking about writing.

Well, to be fair, nearly everything somehow connects me back to writing, but still, I’ve really been struggling every day to write and edit my way through this memoir. 

I diligently stay on it for one hour and slog through but it feels like I’m pushing through wet cement.

However, I’m starting to believe that it’s just like anything that is alive. There is a cocooning, an incubation, a ripening and slowly, slowly it finally bursts through and becomes what it’s truly supposed to be. 

But maybe it’s just as important to be appreciative, and patient within the process of the becoming, as it is to wish for that one moment when it’s ready. 

Maybe it’s just like sailing. It is about the journey, not the destination.

I’m trying to be okay with the grinding and machinations that it takes to figure out what’s really needing to become. Maybe all my writing so far really has nothing to do with the final product. Maybe it’s just part of the growing process. It just might be something that needs to be shed like a shell or husk.

All I can do is keep nudging myself along in the hopes that something might eventually come to fruition.