Everyone needs a thing to be happy about

As the dim glow of the bedside lamp cast a soft light over the room, I found myself drifting into a familiar pre-sleep reverie. It had been another long day, the kind where hours at the office bled into my personal time, leaving little room for anything else. As the quiet of the night settled around me, my mind wandered to the edges of my consciousness where my hobbies lay quietly tucked away, gathering dust like old books on an abandoned shelf.

I remembered the days when my evenings were punctuated not by spreadsheets and emails, but by the smooth wood of paintbrush handles and the rich, earthy smell of oil paints. Those were the evenings when my soul felt most alive, my identity most clear. I thought about how each stroke on the canvas was a dialogue, a vibrant conversation between my inner world and the vast universe outside. Without these creative sessions, I felt a part of me fade, overshadowed by the mundane grayscale of daily routines.

I thought about the words of my old art teacher, Mrs. Gilbert, who used to say, "To deny oneself the joy of creating is to walk through life only half awake." Her words echoed in my mind as I lay there, contemplating the empty spaces in my life where hobbies once danced vividly. I realized, perhaps more profoundly than ever, that without these outlets, it's hard to feel fully alive, fully myself. Hobbies aren't just activities; they are essential threads woven into the fabric of our being, making us whole. As sleep began to envelop me, I made a silent promise to myself: tomorrow I would paint, even if just for a few minutes. For in those minutes, I knew I would find pieces of myself that I thought were lost forever.

I hope you all have your own form of paintbrushes, so it's not all about spreadsheets and screens.
Cheers.