August 16, 2001

It’s getting contrived again, isn’t it?

I feel like I should have something amazing to say, something new to share, or even just some random useful thought. But the fact is, I don’t.

I’ve been so busy the last little while that I haven’t had time to really reflect on a daily basis all that’s been happening. I wanted to be busy so I’d have something to write about, and now I’m so busy that I just don’t care about writing it all in here, isn’t that strange?

I suppose that’s one frustration of being a writer – you’re always thinking of something to write. Everything you do you try to fit into a story somehow. You try to think how to describe it, how to reflect on it, how to get meaning from it. Your mind is always working, and sometimes, that can ruin the moment.

So the past week I’ve just given up on trying to account for everything and decided to just do things and go with the flow. For the first time in a long time I’m just satisfied with being in the moment and looking forward to the next, rather than trying to record it all.

The bad part about that, however, is that when I get a little downtime, I try to haphazardly slap it all down into words. Then I feel like perhaps the feeling of what I was trying to say was lost, and all the words seemed too contrived. And I feel like perhaps I’ve failed somehow.

But the strange thing is, if that’s the case, I’m ok with it. For right now at least. I’ve put so much effort into all this, so much thought and motion, that I feel like I’m entitled to start enjoying it all. I’m finally doing what I love, and I’m starting some new things, and I don’t want to let it all pass my by and only remember it according to some words. I want to remember it in feelings too.

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