Funny thing. I’d been angsting (this is not the funny part…or unusual) about how I’d fallen off my little recently-built writing wagon.

I’d been doing so good up until yesterday; adding little bits of writing, rewriting other parts from present tense into past tense and generally just very contentedly chipping away and feeling some semblance of progress.

And then suddenly the wheels just crumpled sideways and refused to go round.

So I jumped on a much bigger and well-used wagon that sounds sort of like this: I should just stick to travel writing, shouldn’t have turned any trips down, the memoir is a stupid idea, I can’t do a big project like this… Generally winding myself up, or maybe I should say, winding myself down?

Then I started scrolling through the Africa photos and I remembered, that a) I’m so damned lucky and b) this is my choice.

I can either do it or not do it. But I’m not going to twist on the stupid hook of half-assed guilt.

You know the one? You decline an invitation but spend the rest of the time thinking you should have gone? Or you go to the event and then spend the time thinking you shouldn’t have come?

That my dear friends is a weird waste of time and I was almost on board that rusty, yet oh-so-reliable vehicle. Africa reminded me. Most people do not get much of a choice. They get dealt a hand that is ridiculous in its lack of options.

I have the luxury of doing this. Or not. When looked at that way, I decided writing would be easy. I just needed to get behind whatever decision I made.

So, I think I’ll break for my afternoon cup of joe and then get into some writing.

Meanwhile, here’s another photo from that amazing trip… just in case you think you’re working too hard for too little reward…