February 23rd, 2020

I think about writing. About the release that comes with it. As I walk along, I think about the things I have to say. Before I know it, scribed in my mind is an entry to a blog post, or a chapter to a book, or a delicious sentence that aches to find its way somewhere connected to other sentences. These "writings" stay in my mind. Restless. Noisily bouncing around with all of the other unwritten things: the book on Happiness 101; the memoir that others often tell me I should write; my ponderings on education. All unwritten. It isn't writer's block, or having something that wants to be written that hinders me from getting to writing, so what is it? 

My number one excuse these days is time. Not having enough of it. Then I see other single parents who wake at the pre-dawn hours to create the moments and I realize that this excuse doesn't fly. We find the time for the things that matter to us. The same holds true for my other excuses of brain fatigue, lack of inspiration, lack of focus, lack of....  I could provide a robust list of the things I claim to lack that keeping me from writing. And it would all be utter rubbish. What I am realizing is my true stopper is a lack of courage. 

What I want to write about is personal. It would require vulnerability and a willingness to put myself on the line. I want to write about life. About rising up and rising over. I want to share the lessons that life has taught me about happiness and embracing the adventures that lie ahead. Ironically one of those lessons was on the beauty of overcoming fear, and yet, here I am sharing that fear is stopping me from doing something I feel called to do. Because writing about all of that would also include writing about (and exposing) all of the ugly that comes with growth. 

Lately, though, that longing for expression, creative or otherwise, is growing bigger than the fear. I am restless. Bored with my own excuses. Bored enough, I would dare say, that I left my work to the side and came over here to process some of these thoughts. It has been almost four years since I wrote more than a Facebook rant. Along the way, I quieted my creative voice. In part, I believe, because I was so worked up and then numbed by the current state of things that I didn't want to just write about the day to day and yet, I didn't feel safe to say what I felt needed to be said. I am sorting out how to regain that part of myself and cultivate opportunities for creative expression. I am eager to be back in the game, and to see what my 45 year old self has to say.

Have you ever felt that you got so swept up in the day to day of life that you lost a part of yourself?  What did you do to regain the parts of you that make you feel alive?