You have themes, whether you're aware of them or not. We all do. We are all drawn by whispered undercurrents, stories we live by. If you're an artist of any kind, these themes tend to be easier to see--always the same shadows or pomegranates in your paintings; always the lonely can-do tomboy with the absent parents in your writing; always the same baleful notes in your music. You get the idea.
If you don't make art, you might be drawn to it, not really knowing what it is about those chicken-dropping Jackson Pollack paintings that you just love to look at, or why it is that the only movies worth seeing are comedies, no matter how bad or raunchy. Or maybe your themes emerge in the canvas of your lived life--the same kind of lover or friend or job that you choose over and over again, striving for mastery of some ineffable point in time that's beyond your memory.
Maybe the theme emerges organically--time and again you stumble across something emblazoned with the image of a hummingbird, and after awhile you think, okay, I get it--I don't know why, but this means something to me. I'll look for it. I'll recognize it and consider the hummingbird as a sign that I'm on the right path.
Do you know your themes? Do you want to?
The one that is driving me on right now, in life and in writing and interest is community. How to find it, make it, sustain it. I'm studying how isolation damages the soul, and trying to understand why it is that some of us need more of it than others.