You just start doing something for the sake of doing it. You just start. You just wake up someday and someone (or yourself) decides that you’re going to start drawing, or writing or performing.
You do it regularly, as a ritual, sometimes as if it is a mechanical action of your body. As if it is your refuge from the world, from what other people tell you to do or not.
Then almost by accident, you just start looking at situations and objects and people and realize, this or that is linked to that thing you started doing, sometime ago. It soon becomes your hobby. Then from the moment you wake up you start craving for that magical hour in which you’ll be able to do it, and be free again.
Free from routines, from anything that makes you unhappy, or miserable, or tired.
You just can’t stop thinking about the moment when you’ll be able to do your hobby again.
And, then, it is no longer a hobby. It just keeps coming to your mind, and you can’t see yourself NOT doing it. You start to practise as often as possible, and your dreams are even filled with that marvellous thing you were blessed to be able to do.
It is, now, what you inhale and exhale, what you think about to make yourself happy again after a sad cry. You can only see beauty in it, and just can´t understand how there are people who aren’t interested in it.
It becomes your passion, and it is impossible for you to not be in touch with it.
Oh God, no.
Being apart from it almost feels like dying.