Going back the way you came to find out when and where you lost your way

I was looking back through my old sketch books trying to find out when and where art stopped being fun, when painting became a painful chore instead of the joy of expression. I know it happen somewhere during sophomore year, and I am determined to go back to where I was freshman year and pick up there. I'm tired of catering to the needs and tastes of my fellow classmates to live up to some kind of imaginary and arbitrary artistic standard. This idea of going back to painting they way I used to, without trying to give it some kind of meaning or purpose in the art world, fills me with a sense of excitement I've missed over the last two years.