Exhaustedly Resisted Writing

 

I sit here in exhausted resistance.

Not having been able to write for the past month, I wonder if I can at all. The ideas, thoughts, and perceptions are all there, but feel cloaked by a heavy wool blanket of torpor, doubt and fear.

Writing is soooo much work. It's hard and time consuming. And for what? Hasn’t it all been said before? There’s nothing new under the sun. Does my voice really matter? Am I just adding to the clamor?

I keep thinking that people will know the things that I know but I also know they don’t. But I feel like, they should.

Just go look! Seek and you will find. Be curious about the world around you. Ponder deeply. Find credible, thoughtful, humble, optimistic, creative, and out of the box thinkers and read or listen to them. That’s what I do.

My friends tell me that a lot of people don’t do that.

Can’t I just show them where to look? Sure, but no one else experiences life, and reads, and listens, and processes, and writes in exactly the same way that I can.

And then, there’s that darn flame inside my chest to write. I've heard that tot everybody has a burning desire to write. They don’t? Maybe I know too many people that do, and are.

I know the hesitation…it will consume me because I hyper-focus and I have too many responsibilities. I’ve burned out a few of times putting too much energy into too many things. I’m afraid to commit to writing. To lighting my candle at the other end.