I just got home to my apartment, I stepped out of the shower, didn’t unpack my bags, didn’t eat anything, and sat down, with an hour left to publish a blog today before I would miss my vow to write daily for a year.
Sitting in front of my computer, glancing at the desk in a box from Ikea that I’ve yet to build, the mountain of unpacked boxes and misalaneous bags lining my room, along with my seafoam green walls that need to be repainted… the last thing on my mind is scribbling a blog for Sunday, May 22.
And yet, with an hour left to lose, here I am, attempting to write about my life.
I’m not sure what changed in the last few months. This blog used to be my outlet, my place to spew and discuss, to come up with interesting things and explore my feelings and longings. It used to serve a valuable purpose in my life and actually, was something I looked forward to writing. There were times when I was more than a week ahead and my precious black journal was covered in brainstorming thoughts at 8 a.m. on the downtown train. I used to have an excitement and a hunger to write these posts, to go on this journey, to be part of the blog-o-sphere. I still have it but my direction is changing. My interests too.
When I spoke (and wrote) with such enthuasiasm, seasoned bloggers told me to enjoy it, but to keep in mind my momentum would wain eventually. They warned me that something unexpected, something I couldn’t prepare for, something I couldn’t fathom happening, would indeed happen.
They told me that once I put myself out there for the world to see, read, and relate to, I’d end up finding…a life.
And with a full schedule and a budding group of new and old friends, a busy job, freelancing gigs, a possibility, travels, and growing pains that don’t involve this space – I’ve been searching for content instead of letting it flow easily. For a writer, there is nothing worse than forcing material or forging words – it almost feels dishonest and insincere. Writing for the sake of writing doesn’t make a good read for anyone, especially for the person who finds words so important.
What can I really produce as it relates to this journey when my mind is wondering to the week ahead, to the trip I’m taking in a few weeks, to organizing my room, to not ignoring Mr. Possibility as he sits next to me, right at this very second? My mind – and perhaps my heart – isn’t connected to Confessions of a Love Addict at this moment. There are days, at least once or twice a week, when something strikes me and I feel the urge to write. Those are the posts that mean the most, the ones I’m proud of, the ones that keep me going.
But when they are few and far between, do I give up on my commitment to create 365 posts? Do I make really good ones occasionally instead of mediocre ones daily…now at all different times of the day. And currently, at the very latest I’ve ever posted.
Or does what I’m feeling fit into the idea behind the blog entirely? Is this just part of the journey? That some days are better than others, sometimes you’re connected and sometimes you’re distant from the world, and sometimes miles away from yourself. That somethings take priority over others and you can’t always claim something is your top concern because you can’t predict what life will throw at you.
I made a choice to stick to writing, to stick to this journey, even when it doesn’t always feel like I’m still walking on it, then it’s a vow I keep even when I don’t want to. Or when the love I once found here is a little lack luster currently. Because even with an hour left to lose, I picked up the computer, I set my other thoughts aside, and I did what I’ve found the most valuable lesson this blog, this journey, has taught me thus far…to be honest. And the truth is, I don’t want to write right now, but you know what?
I just clicked “published” at 44 minutes until tomorrow, New York time.