Why Do I Write?

So I’ve had 3 sessions with my psychotherapist, and here’s where I am:  Nowhere.

I’ve been here for a long time, most of my life, really.  But especially in the last 6 years, when I quit working to write full time.  I wrote–a little.  I took karate classes, but haven’t yet gotten my black belt.  I joined Toastmasters, but haven’t yet received an advanced communicator award.  I’ve taken art classes, but have never produced a work of art.  I’ve taken guitar lessons, but haven’t yet learned a song.  I’ve mostly been sitting at home, hiding.

My therapist asked me whether I choose to write because I want to write and have something to say or if I choose to write because it gives me an excuse to retreat from the world.  No job, no coworkers, no bosses, no expectations.  And now, no one to tell me it’s okay, that he supports me, that he believes in me.

I depended too much on Hal’s support, on his indulgence.  Without it, my artistic lifestyle seems empty and meaningless.  The question my therapist is asking is this:  Can I change it?  Do I want to?