You say you lost the love for it.
The work. The craft you picked in your twenties. The thing you used to do on weekends before it became the thing you did for a living.
One man believed that for years. Then a stretch away from the job, and in the empty weeks he caught himself doing the work again with nobody paying him. His finding: the love had not gone anywhere. What he'd grown to hate was doing it inside the building.
Read the two halves of that. The craft was fine. The room it had to live in was the problem. And for years he'd been mourning the wrong one.
You've done this. Somewhere in you there's a thing declared dead. Cooking. The writing. The trade. Go back to the moment you called it, and look at what was actually in the room. The boss. The quota. The audience. The version of it that had to make money by Friday.
You held a funeral for the craft so you wouldn't have to admit you just hated the building.
The one thing for the weekend:
Name the thing you say you lost the love for. Then name where you were standing when you decided that.
If the second answer is a building, you buried the wrong one.
Josh
P.S. I finished my 30-day Ash Journal run on July 30. In public, one page a day, no edits, all thirty.
Five minutes. One prompt. One line of ash. The first seven days are free: truevitalyou.com/journal