I’ve been writing a lot less the last three months. I can toss up the easy excuses of the holidays and so on, but those were over awhile ago. Ultimately, I struggle with balance. I have a difficult time doing something in moderation. It’s all or nothing with me. That generally leaves me in a state of burnout, but with writing it’s a little different. Writing is important to me. I want to do it well and maybe someday succeed on a professional level. Because of that, I tend to push myself pretty hard. I create steep expectations for myself and then groan when I fail to meet them. The reverse is what is happening now, inaction.
Maybe this is part of growing up. I don’t know. I think it’s more about learning how to let go. I want control. I want things to go my way. I want things to fit into all of the nice little boxes I’ve created for them. Life tends to push against that. I want to believe that I’m too intense for my own good, but that’s shit. It’s just another excuse. There’s a conflict inside of me that boils down to two sides. One side says that this journey I’m on is one that will last a lifetime and that there is no sense is stressing over the goals of tomorrow. The other side says that life passes you by before you realize it. In my mind, both are right.
And then a third part of me just laughs at the ridiculous struggle I create for myself over something so simple as putting words onto a page.