June 30, 2001
I’m excited, I’m thrilled, I’m living on the edge of anticipation. And not because I’ve got major publishing deals coming up, or because I’ve completed my first novel or money is overflowing. I am excited because I think I have gotten my head out of my ass.
I thought all the recent fear, confusion, restlessness & feeling of being overwhelmed was because I had chosen to write.
It wasn’t.
Writing, as a career was the only right choice I have made in a long time. I knew in my heart that was the right thing, and the entire world was opening up for me to also show me that this was the right decision. And, I had, in all honesty, accepted writing and wanted to learn and grow within it. At the same time I had chosen to write, all these other things started to happen in my life. And all these new things started to overload me, confuse me, and frustrate me. And rather than work them out or admit I couldn’t cope with it all 100%, I blamed everything on my writing career. I blamed everything on my new decision to do what I wanted to do. I took the easy way out.
Since I had blamed my writing for all of my negative emotions, I ended up not writing anything. I didn’t even want to write in my journal or jot a note down for the grocery. For the past two weeks, I’d been completely unproductive, but I wouldn’t admit to it. I’d just blame the situation, I’d blame my decision, I’d blame everything except myself, my actions and my decisions. And I started to hate myself for that, because I usually when I have a problem, I confront it and move on. But I wasn’t doing that; I just kept blaming my writing career instead.
By doing that, life was hard. I was always in a battle of some sort. Anais Nin once said, “The effort to live never wore one out as much as the effort not to.” All my excuses and all my attempts at fighting life had worn me out and paralysed me creatively.
Today, that changed. The past few days I had, without really knowing it, been surrendering to everything and owning up to what was really going on. I spent the last few days just accepting that I haven’t been writing, rather than trying to pretend I had been working hard at it. I stayed in bed if I had and told myself it was ok if I had to sleep or rest or think. If I needed five cups of tea I had it. If I had to feel pitiful I did. I went through all the emotions I’d been trying to bottle up. I didn’t fight anything. I let it all out.
Then I made a list of all the real issues going on right now in my life and then dealt with them one by one. That gave me a sense of accomplishment, closure and then freedom. There wasn’t anything left to hide behind, and the truth was told. I realised that writing wasn’t what I was afraid of, it was so many other things. Blaming writing was just the easy way of avoiding everything else.
I feel like this is the turning point I was looking for, the realisation I needed to make. My writing, my creativity, my art, will be different now. It will move forward without question.
About time.