A few weeks ago Mr. asked me how my writing is going. I flashed the least bitchy ‘drop it already’ smile I could muster (although judging by his reaction it could have been less bitchy) and said, “fine.” He got the point. It recently came up again and I decided it is time to address the fact I haven’t been writing lately – with myself, that is. You are only privy to this conversation by the nature of the issue, I’m killing two birds with one self reflective blog post.
Early this year I decided to write. I don’t even know what that means, but it started off okay. I had been chronicling my online dating adventures and my early relationship with Mr., and voicing a few opinions about interesting news stories. But by the end of August it was radio silence and has been since. I don’t know what’s up with that. Yesterday I also realized I haven’t been reading. I don’t know what’s up with that either. Why have I completely abandoned these two passions? And why hadn’t I even noticed?
Theory #1: I’ve been busy.
I have been busy. Between my last post and this one I went to Burning Man, attended four weddings in five weeks, hosted my mother in Toronto, took a trip to California, changed jobs, started going to boot camp, quit going to boot camp, and organized my closet twice (okay three times). Being busy has never kept me from writing before, and honestly it isn’t the reason this time.
Theory #2: I’m working on other projects.
This one is kind of true. Writing for other people is hard sometimes, self consciousness gets in the way of saying what I want to say so I opt to say nothing at all. I’ve been writing a few things for myself, but it has felt forced and I quickly lose interest. It’s an excuse, not a reason.
Theory #3: I’m happy.
I’m pretty sure this is it, and I’m pretty sure I don’t know what to do about it. Last week I celebrated one year with Mr, things are perfect and get better every day. I just started a new job – I went back to consulting after a year in an internal role. So far it is going well and aside from a few expected challenges of being a new manager everything has been great. Life is awesome, and I’m not writing about it. Why?
Sub-theory A: I prefer complaining to positivity.
Let’s be honest: cynicism and sarcasm are funnier than the sickeningly sweet reality I’ve been living in. No one wants to hear me wax poetic about Mr. bringing me lilies every week or cooking me dinner, or finding countless new ways to be romantic. I could talk about it all day and then some, but it would either make you nauseous or jealous and neither of those is funny. I could talk about work but it would sound like bragging (yes, it does occur to me that this is in itself bragging but I am exploring possibilities right now and therefore request a pass). I love my new job and it seems like every day is another opportunity to feel challenged and share ideas with people who want to hear them. So what else is there? The world will never be short of crazy goings-on, but I can hardly shed my rose-coloured glasses long enough to say something snarky. I find I just don’t care enough to comment.
Sub-theory B: I’m a cliche.
Cliches are true, if they weren’t they’d just be statements and entirely unremarkable. But [insert form of expression here] is therapeutic. Writing is a way to take myself out of my own head and into the world around me, and reading is a way to escape the world around me and exist inside my own head. So now that I’ve found a balance between introversion and living (like really living) in the world I don’t feel I have anything to escape from or to. History’s greatest writers, artists, musicians and the like are notoriously dark and twisted. Many creative types who happen to suffer from mental illness have been known to go off their medication because they feel uninspired. Can you think of a great artist in any medium who is/was known to be all smiles and butterflies and rainbows? I can’t.
I won’t resolve to write more often, or apologize for disappearing. Honestly, writing is selfish anyway and if you even noticed you probably either didn’t care or assumed one of the above. I will continue to enjoy my awesome life, and I will try to figure out how to write from this new vantage point. Because as I close this entry I realize that writing makes me happy, even if I am already happy.