They say the only cure to writer’s block is to write more.
So, I’m going to try.
This feels like an oxymoron to me, because obviously if I didn’t have writer’s block I would write more. I have the desire to write, but when I sit down to write…nothing comes out.
Have I run out of ideas to write about?
Do I need to attend a writer’s workshop? Or take a beginner’s writing class? (Probably, but for totally different reasons, I think.)
Am I destined to write about the same issues over and over and over and over again?
…or the real question: Does anyone even care about what I’m writing about?
Who am I writing for? The obvious answer here being: everyone. Is everyone coming to my blog? No, definitely no. That possibility exists, however. I would like for my writing to appeal to the masses. But is that realistic? No, definitely no.
So, again: Who am I writing for?
I have to think…myself. I’m writing for myself. I find enjoyment in this. I find my words bring me joy. I find myself basking in the pleasure of a well put together and thought out sentence. It doesn’t get much better than that.
But I also am writing to spread awareness. About mental health. About yoga. About feminist issues. About environmental issues. About animal rights. About our world, about you and me and the trees and the sky. It’s all connected. And I’m curious about all of it. I want my words to reach far and wide. I want them to make an impact on somebody – anybody.
And maybe they already have, I just don’t realize it.
Words are powerful. They are the mightiest weapon. They are stronger than any army. I take caution in wielding my sword, because you never know who you may scratch.
To be honest, I’m having a bit of an existential crisis. I don’t know if it’s been going on for a while and I just now realized or if it’s recent. If I’m being honest, I think it’s been going on for several years.
It’s hard to admit it, but I’m second guessing my career choice. I’m struggling to find that same fulfillment I had fresh out of graduate school. I understand that some of that zest fades away over time, but I would like at least some of it to have stuck around.
I don’t know what recently set this spiral in motion, but it is all coming out now. I’m by no means making any rash decisions, but I’m weighing my options. I’m doing a lot of soul searching. I can’t stop thinking about what my dreams and goals really are. The idea of chasing after a new dream – or maybe a dream that was always there I just never truly let myself realize it – scares me in the most exciting way.
I’m analyzing what I would need to do to make it a reality. I’m crunching numbers and I’m doing research and I’m talking to my husband (and will be reaching out to more people soon, I’m sure). I’m truly letting myself feel. The frustrations. The heartbreak. The stress. The financial pressures. The crippling student loans from graduate school (damn interest rates!).
One thing, though, that I’m really struggling with: the idea that if I step away from this career completely, that equates to me being a failure.
Oh, this hurts. I can’t let it go. It’s swirling in my brain. Round and round it goes, again and again, day after day. I feel like if I move on even when the time is right, I’m a failure. I’m walking away from everything I worked so hard for.
Yet. Yet I know I can continue honing these skills and using them. Just in a different context.
But. But failure.
And back and forth it goes.
I know one thing for sure – writing is my constant. I want to continue writing. In some form. Maybe someday I’ll make a decent enough living to do this full time. Or maybe I won’t and maybe that’s ok, too. But maybe…just maybe…this path will lead me to where I want to be.
So, I will keep writing.
And no one else.