Day 151 – Pathetic

These days it’s almost impossible to find time to write. There’s just too much going on. And in the moments where nothing is happening (which are few and usually quite late in the evenings), I just can’t quite seem to corral my thoughts and make much sense of anything. I hate that. Yet, I haven’t been able to find a way to remedy it.

I used to be able to write anywhere, anytime. I used to be able to shut out the distractions and throw a harness on my thoughts to bring out at least a few pages of something.

But somehow, I’ve just fallen way out of practice. Life has gotten busier, and a whole lot more complicated. ┬áThe distractions have grown larger and more persistent. So, I’m left with half-formed, mushy thoughts that never quite make it fully-formed and onto the page.

Keep writing. Keep writing. Keep writing.

The words are just getting lost. I can’t explain it. And that inner critic is barking loudly.

“You’re kidding yourself.”

“You don’t have any ideas. No original thoughts.”

“No one wants to hear what you have to say anyway.”

“Do us all a favor and just give it up already.”

“You’re no writer. Writers write things. You’re not writing shit.”

And repeat.

But my thoughts keep returning to the unfinished manuscripts, the projects that keep getting shoved aside because everything else keeps taking priority. And the new ideas keep coming too, but I just can’t carve out the time to devote to any of them. I hate myself for it. I’ve never been my best when I’m not writing. Somehow the world just spins on its side and feels unbalanced.

I hate sounding like such a fucking whiner. If you want to write, fucking write. Stop blaming the world for not having enough time and admit that you’re to blame for wasting a lot of the time you could be putting pen to paper.

I think the problem is that I’m waiting for the perfect words to come. I’m waiting or some epic inspiration, some magi that will ignite the pen in my hand and burn words onto the page that will somehow change the world.

The blank page has gotten the best of the, and it’s as if I am suddenly incapable of finding a way to turn the tables and re-establish myself as the one in charge.

But I’ll keep going. I’ll keep writing. Because if I’m nothing else, I’m too stubborn to really quit.

Day 107 – The F word

You know, I’d like to have a nice, long (probably expletive-filled) conversation with the first person who ever decided that failure is a bad thing–something to be embarrassed about, something to try and avoid at all costs and never, ever admit to.

I mean seriously, what the hell?

How have we deluded ourselves into thinking only perfection is acceptable, that perfection exists at all? When did we decided to start ignoring the process, to discount all the valuable things we learn when we make mistakes and miss the mark?

I’ve got a newsflash for you folks–nobody ever does it exactly right the first time.

Nobody.

And the only way to ever get it right is to figure out how NOT to do it wrong.

It’s hard though, to admit that we’re not 100% in control of our lives, especially now, living in our social media bubble where we’re constantly bombarded with everyone’s best moments.

It’s hard to own our mistakes and share our struggles when all we see are highlight reels.

But it’s the struggles that give life flavor, that make us strong. It’s the challenges we face that create us and define us and shape us into the people we will eventually become.

We have the potential to do incredible things, to make the world an amazing place, if we can muster up enough courage to try knowing that we’re going to miss the mark a few (maybe a few hundred) times.

We’ve got to experiment and fail and learn and repeat. Every. Single. Day.

So get out there and own your life. Try new things. Surround yourself with people who are going to lift you up and cheer you on and help you find the way.

You got this.

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