Just when I signed into WordPress it let me know that my last post was published a month ago. I stared at the screen for 5 minutes until I realized that I had written 3 draft posts and never published them because they weren’t the right words. I didn’t have the right message. I’m not even writing on the right computer.
Then I started thinking about you [readers], and the blog, and the fact that I curse the inconsistent things in life when this is most consistent thing I’ve made for myself. I often hear people describe how they make homes in other people, which is possible but after two years I’ve never had something so stable than a place to be open. I also had a few individuals come up to me when I was studying for exams asking me where my weekly blog post was.
(sorry I’m so weird in real life, and rush to every opportunity to show you photos of my dog)
Last year I did the one month hiatus, when you’re focused on exams it’s hard to give into the noise around you and when I write, I give in. I had Writer’s Block, but it was by choice, until I could no longer write a decent sentence, and self-loathed because of it.
“Sometimes he’ll just look at me in such a way that I forget how to utter even the simplest word. How dangerous is that, to even forget that I shouldn’t smile back as often as I do. But I do..Sometimes he does…But mostly I do….” – (3am texts, Beca)
We’re going to let ourselves look ridiculous until we learn not to. We let ourselves believe that the names in bright flashing lights ahead of us mean go ahead, and it’s our alibi when someone asks us why we picked up the phone, when we should have let it go to voicemail. Or why someone looks at us a certain way, but isn’t aware that they are.
I stopped at this point, showed a dear friend, and she said this post wasn’t done. It wasn’t. But I walked for hours today to get just a bit of inspiration. To exhaust my body, and my mental monologues so that I’d write and each typed word would become a scream, and finally someone would hear me. So violin buskers played at the right moment, and I strolled through an old bookstore, thrifted a Hemingway novel, and waltzed by familiar authors that I would associate with other people. Growing up, when I missed someone I would read their favourite author.
To be honest, none of these posts sufficed because none of them said what I have been wanting to express all month. That we look into empty doorways hoping someone will just walk in. I say things out loud before texting them, and write something different because I get so mentally exhausted of the idea of explaining myself. When I could just shoot at a point blank range and say, “maybe you should start acting upon the things you’re so afraid to say out loud.” But then again I’m contradicting myself.
Then again, so are you.
You’re all so afraid. To feel more than one emotion at the same time. Why? Because we’re so stuck inside of our own heads sometimes, and it’s so easy to get lost in there. Regardless of whether it is your own mind, you can’t control what or who consumes it.
And when you choose to walk around like I did today, to get out of your own head. I ask you to take a look around, take notice that there are so many beautiful things growing around you. There are people growing around you. Growing on you. Don’t give them fragmented pieces of what others have left behind, because they’re not your past.
Remember that, you’ll need it.