There was a time last year when I decided I will stop lying to myself. I realized I was not happy. With myself, my situation, even my writing. Now, I get happiness starts with me. I do. I understand that I make myself happy. But put that aside for one minute and become human. Realize with me that external factors affect us. Affected me. Swallow it. Let that thought, before you begin to have reinforced steel around your choice to be happy goes up. Listen.
I realized I was faking everything. That I only faced the truth when I was alone, and could not even admit it to myself. A depressive period. A time when I wrote the following words.
I hate writing. Now. I hate thinking up words. I hate defining things. I hate thinking of a full paragraph and then some in my head, because my fingers do not connect as well anymore. My heart does not feel the flow. I sit and put things down that end up making zero sense to me. I hate it. It annoys me that I rethink everything. Every word out of my brain, every letter at my fingertips.
This feeling has been there for me, in the sense of a blockage that lets nothing out. It is writer’s block. I feel it. I have had it before. I know it from a previous time or two, but in those times, it left as soon as it came on. This? This feels like something out of the ordinary.
You want to know what I did before? I let it be. I allowed it to consume me. I gave it power, because I had realized it was an ordinary part of the process. “I always get over it. Always come out on the other end.” I did. I just don’t trust myself this time. The surety that was there in my heart is gone. Put out like a match in the wind. Out, without warning.
I tried a couple of things. One that worked well for me was trying to place my situation in a practical world.
Let me try to explain it, maybe that will help. It’s a well. A borehole if you will. A tapered shaft bored into the ground that is used for extraction. A pump is used to extract whatever it is. Water, gas, the alphabet. Now, the pump is manmade. It breaks. It needs maintenance, repairs. I know how to repair the pump. There is a system in place. I have a sometimes imperfect plan on how to, but the pump always roars again. ALWAYS. This time, I’m not so sure.
It is not a practical world. The borehole cannot work without the pump. I have both. What I was missing was something to turn the pump on. To help me access the water. The alphabet.
There have been lies over the last few years. Promises made and broken. I have lied to myself, which is insane to me. I pride myself in the art of truth. I don’t see reason to fabricate things, because I do enough of that in my writing. I cook up stories about everything. Cats, trees, even the sun.
This is not my reinvention. What am I reinventing anyway? I am not a new person. I am not different. What I am, is older [this number is really getting up there]. And wiser. I intend on using this wisdom going forward. I have had a lot of lessons this past year. A LOT of them. I had to unlearn some of the things I had held on to dearly. I had to distance myself from everything that pulled me farther from the switch to my pump.
I am not saying I am there. I am saying I now have a system. A method and the support I require to get to where the switch is. I am working every day to get to it. I am working every day to do better. Be better. Hydrate and mind my business. [That’s a weird word; Business. Like a thing to get money with, but also, a thing that keeps you busy. The act of being busy. Busy+Ness] My business, of course, being here. You, me, every Thursday.
Last year’s theme was Young Love. I am not changed so I see no reason for is to change. It also makes no sense to introduce you to a new theme when you have provided about two dozen stories on the theme. It is weird how you guys still sent in stories when I have not been writing. My 2021 MIRAWU planner is filled, and I am in awe. You may have been the method I needed.
I used to write more. In my teens, heck, even in my pre-teens. As I get older, I need to write more. At least more than the last few years. Here’s to hoping.
So, we continue with Young Love 2.1. I wanted to call it 2.0 but that eerily sounds so last year [Ha-ha]
Welcome back, kids! So excited.