How is it possible that I’ve gone four full days without writing something new?
At the beginning of March, I committed to myself that I would write every day. And to tell the truth, I’ve been pretty great about maintaining that commitment to myself.
So what gives?
It’s not a lack of time. Although work and life is demanding, I can readily admit that there was time I could have spent composing.
What, then, was I lacking? Discipline? Energy? Motivation? Inspiration?
I can’t put my finger on it. But here’s my best guess.
Writing is hard.
It takes courage to sit down and pull something from the ether, especially when surrounding life is full of static and noise and fear and anxiety and frustration. It is so much easier to sit poolside, dipping my toes into the water, than it is to take a breath and dive in to thoughts that might be dark or dangerous or discouraging.
I’m still trying to figure out where in life I need to give myself a pass – where I need to offer myself grace in a tumultuous time. And I’m still trying to figure out where in life I need to give myself a stern look or a talking-to.
Because while there is comfort in allowing myself space to let things go, there is also a great degree of satisfaction in DOING the WORK.
And when I discover the balance, I’ll sell it for a million bucks. You heard it here first, folks.