I lost my kitty this weekend. I had to say goodbye after eight years. It wasn’t an entirely happy eight years. At times, it was miserable and defeating, and people wondered why I did it.
And then, just like that, it ended. An almost decade-long part of my life vanished behind a door at the animal clinic.
And I was left with emptiness, but hope too. Hope that a void could be replaced with warmth.
Many people consoled me, but one of my clients said … “The bad news? It doesn’t get any easier. That’s the life of an animal lover.”
It may seem pessimistic, but it isn’t. It really hit home with me, in so many areas of life. As human beings we embrace love and passion knowing we can lose it.
When it comes to writing, we embrace a volatile and fickle path that has many yesses and infinite nos. We may be accepted only to be rejected. We may be published only to be discontinued. There is no final door to disappear through. There is no steady, yet reliable void or sense of grief. There is hope, then despair, then feeling lost.
The bad news?
It doesn’t get easier. This is the life of passion. Of love. Of embracing what you don’t know for what you know you need. For what your heart calls out to.
Is it worth it in the end?
This is the life of an animal lover.
This is the life of an anything lover.