It was supposed to be a vacation day. A weekend at the Lake of the Ozarks doesn’t exactly lend itself to quiet reflection. Most people were still asleep, saving their energy for the afternoon sun and evening fireworks. But just after dawn, something about the stillness outside felt too perfect to waste. The sky was soft with color. The water was still. It was the kind of morning that usually slips by unnoticed, unless you’re paying attention. And for the first time in a while, it felt worth paying attention to. My computer emerged almost automatically, not to check emails or work, but simply to write. Not for anyone specific, not driven by a deadline, nor to prove a point or finish an assignment. Just to write – the way it used to feel – instinctive, invigorating, as if the words had to find their place. Somewhere along the journey, that feeling was lost. That’s the thing about turning a passion into a profession. It sounds like a dream and in many ways it is, but there’s a cost…