I’ve been sitting with some ancestry research lately. It was one of those urges appearing. It’s been all stuffed in a shoebox and lists with relatives are not nearly as helpful as a tree. So I decided to spend some time to get it all into a digital tree with photos and documents and all. It would be one less bad conscience and something useful for the future.
Then I could not resist to do some search in the document the service hinted existed. I found for instance my mother’s uncle in a crew list for the ship where he worked. Fun. But on the whole I found little in the documents that I didn’t already know. For those that I had hoped to find some more information there was nothing to find.
Somewhere during those hours I found that I was done. I realized that I was ready to move on. The tree is there. Sure, some photos and documents are still to be added, but nothing that bubble up as a huge urge as it was when I started. Finally I was satisfied.
To be honest I almost turned upset when I realised how much time I had spent on it rather than writing.
But things are not that simple. I’m not sure I would have been able to write. Those urges that pop up are desperate calls from somewhere inside me. So far I have not found a safe way around them. Easiest is to just answer the call and keep from spending too much money getting there.
This morning I asked myself if it was worth to keep writing for a professional level. Less than twelve hours later I’m a marvelous writer again. This afternoon I sat down and wrote and found that I had both passion and confidence for what I’m doing.