Muse.

I stopped writing in my journal when I started dating Dave.  What I mean by this is not that I stopped my journal, but that I stopped writing altogether because that was all of the writing I was doing at that point in my life.  I thought that maybe, just maybe, the creativity piece of me was on hiatus.  It takes a bit of a fire, though that sounds so cliché to me, to fuel my creativity. 

It pains me to admit this, but I sort of thought, maybe it was Dave.  That sounds terrible to say out loud.  Just know, I wondered it. 

The relationship before him was tumultuous at best and the person I believed to be the great unrequited love of my life at worst.  I can say that now and laugh because it is amazing what perspective and life brings to the equation.  There was angst and emotion and the very moment I met this person there was this fuel.  I wrote tomes that I thought were inspired by him, but really were inspired by the storm he brought to my life.

Dave was calm.  Even keeled.  I was happy.

There was no magnum opus or tear stained journal pages.

I began to wonder if he was the anti-muse, he and his stupid happiness.  Would that piece of me just go?  Do happy people write?  I didn’t know the answer to that, but I was pretty sure the answer was no.  The words didn’t come for me.  There weren’t the torrent of feelings there, the dramatic mood swings, the life contemplations, the angst to push them from my brain onto the paper, there was just one feeling. 

Content.

He was unruffled through every attempt to take him on this roller coaster of emotion that I thought I needed.  And he probably thought I was a little crazy.

I found this space six and a half years ago.  And the writing, it came, the creativity did too.  I was as surprised as you might be that someone was going to pay me to do this.  This happens in real life?  I thought maybe that I had found my muse in the form of these little punks that he and I created together.

Except, I don’t know that is really true. 

This Dave of mine?  Last week, he moved mountains to put me on an airplane for five days while he handled everything at home seamlessly.  He did it so I could be in the room with the likes of Jenny Lawson, Mel Culbertson, Fadra Nally, Miranda Wicker, Liz Henry, Casey Carey-Brown, Kate Canterbury, Jana Anthoine, Stephanie McCratic, Kelly Wickham, Kristina Grum, and Heather King. 

Last year, it was Dave who was the least surprised that a post I wrote resonated with so many people.  It was he, who told me how proud he was that I was nominated for another BlogHer Voices of the Year when I cried {again} seeing my name on the list after getting off the plane. 

I see him urging me to shine, pushing me out of my comfort zone.  I hear him saying that I can do this, I need to do this, I can write for a living.  He inspires me and challenges me and some days, he believes in me more than I believe in myself.

When I came home and told him that I didn’t realize just HOW much I needed Mom 2.0, he squeezed my hand and said, “I know.”  And I believe that he did.

If that isn’t a muse?  I don’t know what is.