It feels a little strange sitting here at my cluttered desk. I didn’t think I’d be doing this again. My fingers feel a little stiff and unsure putting these words together. It’s been three weeks but it feels as if it’s been months, years even since I’ve put together a coherent thought.
I keep cycling between wanting to keep writing and wanting to give it up. My mind is split in half. I don’t know which side is winning, but I’m here, writing this, so one side must have the upper hand right now.
What exactly keeps bringing me back here?
It’s been over a week, I know. I had some things to think about.
I was thinking a lot about this space and what it means to me. I’ve always said that this blog was an outlet, a place to put my thoughts when they couldn’t go anywhere else. I’ve also said that I think it’s important to write even if you have nothing to say.
Maybe I was wrong about that last bit. If I’m being honest with you and with myself, I can’t be happy with the quality of writing I’ve been putting out. A lot of it has been forced because, for some reason, I felt compelled to post regularly. That was impractical on my part and it meant that I had little time for reflection and improvement. It became a matter of quantity over quality.
It got to a stage where I was just writing for the sake of writing. It wasn’t about creative output anymore – just output. There’s no enjoyment in that.
So, what to do? Well, I’m not sure yet. For now, I caution you not to expect too much. I have to rethink what I want to achieve as a writer. I have to think what I need to do to deserve that title.
I suppose anyone who has ever put a word to paper has had thoughts like these… followed by more thoughts and more questions than answers.
I’ve stopped thinking about the sad days as setbacks. They hurt much less now and I heal more easily.
It’s one of those days where I don’t know what to write about. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say. It’s quite the opposite. There’s so much going on in the world right now. So many bad things. Good things as well, I suppose, if we look hard enough. There are also many things happening in my personal life – many good and bad things. But what do I say about them?
It feels as if everything is trying to rush out of me all at once, but there’s only a small outlet – only a few places I can put my thoughts, only a few people who will listen. So, instead of everything gushing out at once, my thoughts are dripping out of me as if from a leaky tap. Uncontrollably, albeit in small doses.
This inability to articulate and regulate my thoughts makes me feel as if I’ve failed somehow.
“How can you call yourself a writer if you can’t express yourself with words?”
I have thoughts like these sometimes – thoughts of inadequacy. I have them more often than I’d like to admit. But, these thoughts feel less lonely than they did before. At first, they were grey, like the sky before a storm, but I think the storm has passed now. Everything feels a little lighter than before, a little calmer, as if dawn is approaching. Everything is turning blue – the colour of sadness, but also of tranquillity and hope.
I’d call that progress.
I’m still not sure if I should send you this letter. I’m not sure if you’ll read it. Maybe some things are better kept hidden away in journals. Only, I’ve already taken all this time to write you…
Anyway, I hope you’re doing well and I hope there are blue skies ahead for you. I feel dawn approaching.
Most of us won’t have biographies written about us someday. Most of us don’t want that. We’d prefer a quiet life, one where we are content. Still, even though our life story may not end up in print, it’s a story that will be written all the same – in memories. Make sure your story is one you can fall in love with.
It’s better to try and then fail than to live under the crushing weight of the “what ifs”
I started writing because it was cathartic, an escape from a troubling reality. However, the more I see of the world, the more I’m starting to think that we should use our writing to give a voice to those who do not have one. If they want us to, it’s our responsibility to tell their stories.