I’ve decided to take a longer lunch break today to write this post. A lot of the time, I’ll clock out for 30 minutes, assemble and eat my food, then log right back on to my work computer. But today I made a sandwich and ate it while kicking the ball around with the dogs. Afterward, when everyone was in need of a water break and ready for their mid-day treats, I ushered them back inside, snagged a flavored water, and decided it was as good a day as any to write a blog post. I have approximately 30 minutes to write and publish this disarray of thought, so let’s just call it a writing challenge of sorts.
Lately, life has not been conducive to time spent blogging. I’ve wanted to write another post…well, how far are we into the year now? But my mind has felt too busy, too distracted. Even though it is “just blogging,” blogging is still writing, and for me that often means longer form writing I try to put at least a little bit of my soul into despite the fact that my readership consists of myself–anxiety proofreading after clicking “publish”–and maybe three or four other people.
I can’t seem to stop thinking about how different my creative life is now in comparison to a decade ago. I had a much different understanding of myself as a writer. Today, at nearly 36, I’m happy to have made the time even for this. Though I did work on a few a poems I have saved to my Notes app the other night before bed. I remind myself over and over that the quality and the quantity is not the point, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that my younger self would be disappointed in me today. I failed to overcome her worst habits, which of course means I’ve gotten exactly nowhere with the writing career she so desperately hoped to make a reality in her future present. I’d like to point out to her, however, that I’m doing my best, for whatever that’s worth. Girl, you’ve often wondered if being published would really make you happy or if you just need to feel it in your bones. I think that’s what’s bothering her, me, us. We, I, haven’t felt it in my bones for a long time.
I want to feel it. This creative depression is taxing. But it’s fighting for attention just like anything else in my life. I’ve never known how to master it, so I obsess myself with literally anything else. But this is nice. This has felt nice…writing at the kitchen island with Rob Thomas crooning behind me on the TV. I feel bad now that I’ve spent so much of this post lamenting my creative woes. I’ll move on to other things.
Oh, God. Except what exactly? If I can’t write about not writing, what is there?! Kidding. Sort of.
My friend circle has a fun event coming up this month that I’m looking forward to in celebration of one of their birthday. I also get to celebrate my dog, Oliver’s, Gotcha Day on the 18th. That might be when you see me here next. And my family’s annual summer-ish beach trip is coming up soon as well. More blog posting potential. Well, I have ten minutes left for lunch, so I should wrap this up and give myself an opportunity to proofread and/or change my mind about publishing this at all.
Until next time,
LMB.
Lauren Michelle Brock 