As I began to read this book, I knew immediately what the author was talking about when he describes the "alive feeling" that someone gets while doing something they truly love. I always enjoyed art class in school, but I never did much drawing outside of school. What I did enjoy was writing. Not the process of putting my thoughts on paper, but the act of writing.
I loved the way a pencil gave resistance and the way a pen glides over the paper, creating two different effects in my handwriting.
I used to trace other people's handwriting and then try to recreate it. I would get distracted while taking notes in class because I would be spending too much thought on how my words looked.
I even started training myself to write with my left hand in order to develop yet another style. When I was about fourteen, I got a calligraphy set for Christmas. It wasn't easy for me right away, and I was frustrated at my lack of ability. But I kept practicing. I wrote letters to friends with those pens and used them in my diary for months. I had to think of things to write in order to keep it interesting. I remember copying verses out of the Bible for no reason other than to practice my calligraphy.
As I got older and my time became more demanding, I cut back on the amount of time that I spent on my calligraphy. I enjoyed doing it, but I had no real use for the talent, so I let it fall away. For the next ten years, I rarely pulled out the calligraphy set.
After getting married and having four kids, I went through a time of depression. I couldn't seem to pull myself out of it. I went to a doctor and started on an anti-depressant. Within a few weeks I knew that I was feeling better when I had the desire to pull out my calligraphy set. After playing with it for a while, I decided to use my talent to create Christmas presents for my whole family. I used almost every spare minute for the next two months creating those gifts. And for the first time in years, I felt really alive.