Uncertainty, Avoidance, and Angst

Photo by delfi de la Rua on Unsplash

When I gave myself permission to write about whatever I wanted, that had to also mean permission to not write when I didn’t want to. Which has been the last while. 

It’s been a struggle recently to find the energy for anything. You may know that I write for a living, which is fun, and a genuine dream come true, but it's also hard. Writing every day for work takes a lot more brainpower than I expected it to. 

There are not many parts of my job now that are mindless tasks anymore. I don’t have much work where I can look for patterns in data or punch in numbers. That’s one of the things I will admit that I miss about an office job. There’s always some sort of mind-numbing task you can do on autopilot. Something that you might even be able to listen to a podcast while you work. 

I don’t really have anything like that anymore. Now I get most of my podcast listening done while I’m driving (which is basically never) or while I pummel my stiff lats (from sitting in front of my computer so much) by rolling around on top of lacrosse balls on the floor. My current favourite podcast, and the only one I actually make time to listen to regularly, is Scotland Outdoors. 

I miss listening to podcasts, they inspire me and make me think, and give me ideas to write about.

Recently I went to the website of a writer I admire, Tom Cox. I love that his website is full of long thoughtful pieces. He posts what he wants to write about, very prolifically. I wish I was doing more of that. I want to be writing on my blog here more. 

I still journal most days but even that’s been hard lately. One thing I learned last year, is that writer’s block is all in your head. So I wouldn’t say I’m having writer’s block. I know there’s always something I can write about. But… I think I’m exhausted. Mixed with a little impostor syndrome. 

Be Careful What You Ask For

In my last post, I asked for tips and advice. And people gave me tips and advice. And honestly, some of it terrified me. Not because it was bad advice. 

But because some of it neatly collated my dreams and desires and ideas under a single umbrella that finally connected all the dots, but also made it feel real and monumental and scary. 

Before now, I didn’t really know how the things I wanted to do connected to each other. And to be honest, there was a bit of comfort in that. The blissful and willful ignorance of “I don’t know how to put all these things I want to do together, so I can’t figure out what the next step is so, I’ll just like sit here and focus on how confusing it is instead of getting help trying to figure it out.”

But now… it's not like the path is clear, but the map has been sketched out on a napkin? And it's clear that the next steps take place here, on my blog, and on my social media. That to get to the next checkpoint, I need to be consistent. I need to be persistent. I need to show up.

In my head, I knew that persistence mattered. But you know how sometimes it's like someone else has to turn on the light for you. You might, in theory, know where the light switch is, but you might be fumbling in the dark, sort of deliberately missing it because you know that once the light is turned on, you can’t unsee what you’re about to see? 

There are also things I’ve done recently that have pushed me not quite off, but closer to the edge of my comfort zone. If it were a cliff, I would have just kicked some rocks away from under my feet. So I know that I’m going to have to jump sooner or later and trust that  I’ll either grow wings in the air and know how to use them, a parachute that I didn’t know I had will be on my back already, other people with wings will carry me towards my new path, a net will catch me, or I’ll splash into the sea and grow gills and fins. 

I like flowery literary devices, ok? Even if I’m not very good at understanding the differences between all of them.

Someday soon, probably in a week or two, these blogs will start to revolve around plants again, as we start our seeds for this year’s garden in early March. Until then, you’re stuck with my existential angst.