I find myself very restless these days. I have a constant feeling that I'm not doing what I should. I don't mean 'should' as in what society expects from me - 9 to 5, mortgage, house, car etc - but 'should' as in what I feel my instincts and gut tell me.

The trouble is, I can't quite pinpoint what the 'should' is.
Is it lethargy? Or the desire to just 'be'?
Or are they both the same with me?

Whatever it is, it's gnawing away at me - like a dog whos been sent to its basket, constantly padding around in circles; nudging the blankets, sitting, getting up, wriggling, going round in circles - trying to find the right spot. The zone of comfort to settle into and remain.

I have a good job, as far as jobs go, but it no longer fulfils me - even when I'm there, I'm not. My mind exits my body, trailing a beckoning finger in my direction, cajoling me to follow. What I see in front of me is akin to the ghost of christmas's yet to come. But it's not my future it taunts me with. It's my lack of future. The images I wish to have; to be brave enough to escape the humdrum and do something creative. Every bone in my body wishes I were writing or creating during the times I'm stuck in work slavery. Wishing I had that afternoon to myself rather than have to work for someone elses benefit.

I don't enjoy the 9 to 5 - I doubt there are many that do. Sure, like most I make the best of it, but when pressed, it's not what drives me.

What drives me is the dream of just being able to be. Sitting here now, it's lunch time and my mind has beckoned me to the cathedral grounds. Outdoors, with the breeze and the trees. The sky and the air. It's now that I return to a thought I keep having, watching the people around me, or taking in the simple nature of that and the view.

It's this: More often than not we may see, but we don't really look. The world is made to be explored, right from the simple act of looking properly at all that surrounds us, and appreciatiing it, to the complexities and exertions of travel and discovery.

That's when I know I want to be free; Free to discover, not only what's around me, but what's in my mind. To write, to tell stories, to capture, to imagine. To do things for me and to 'live'.
Nothing inspires creativity more than this. I don't know exactly what to create, what to write. That's what's still pulling at me. But I do know I feel trapped when I can't just be.

And even if it is lethargy rather than literary dreams that causes this - which place do I tell myself I'd rather still be?

As I ponder this and look around, the sun blazes its shining agreement down on me, and the breeze wraps itself around me in welcome.