We share a stasis of sorts; a lethargy of motion. We are not meant to be standing still, and because of this, we feel it as a relentless
stirring as life brushes past us.
Unfortunately, it is not moving that is required. It is movement under the right motivation.
A dilemma, if you will: what to do when the act that began as a new challenge becomes routine? Aside from the obvious answers (approaching said challenge from new angles, finding some aspect that is exciting to re-engage interest, etc.), all of which are designed to prolong, but not ultimately fix, the issue.
Let me be honest. I do not think there is a fix. I am simply not content to be content.
Because, at heart, I require challenges in my life. When dealing with challenges, stress is applied, the ligaments of life are stretched and I am forced to react, to fight, to bare my teeth and be more than a stationary object.
Given one role, should it be so easy to face it forward? Should we write fiction to mirror what we want in life, or live our lives like the fiction we want to write?