This past weekend I was involved in a film shoot.
I had a small part, maybe eight lines in all, about 45 seconds of screen time, and you hardly see my face at all.
But I was there for about twelve hours in total.
I'm not complaining, I had a blast. I met some really cool people, and for the first time I saw into this world that I've been itching to get into for awhile.
And I want to do it again.
That's neat and all, but not why I'm writing this post.
Last night on the car ride home I realized something. I realized why I write these posts.
I started this blog back in 2011.
I was unemployed, depressed, and honestly rather bored.
"It keeps me busy," I told myself.
But not in the way I thought at the time.
Writing is a creative outlet, to be sure. And these blogs are a wonderful way for me to organize my very chaotic brain, and sometimes even get insight from whoever reads them.
That's fun, I like that.
August of 2011, I found a full-time job.
I stopped blogging.
I stopped going out to see bands.
I stopped hanging out with friends as much.
It just took a lot of time. Time that I didn't feel that I had anymore.
Since I didn't go out much, I had nothing of interest to put in my blog, so I stopped writing in it.
That's not true.
Last night I realized that because I stopped blogging, I stopped going out to find interesting things to do.
I blog because it pushes me to go out and get more fun stories to share.
I write because I cannot paint with this set of colors anywhere else.
It was an inspiring realization. I knew I loved writing, but I had no idea how central it was to my life.
I'll post the film when it's done being edited.