Updated: Jan 1
I’m five days over the half way point in my commitment to write every single day for 365 days. And I’m mentally over it today. I’ve been mentally over it for a while now.
I enjoy writing. It’s been therapeutic for me…much more so than talking typically is. The very act of putting words on paper has helped me to work through a lot of stuff. And I’ll admit, when I made the decision to do this, I was expecting it to take a lot…I mean, a lot…longer for me to work through the junk I have.
I assumed I’d have months upon months of material to make my way through. I assumed I wouldn’t meet a man right away so I’d have the trials and tribulations of dating to write about.
I assumed I’d spend more time searching for passions to pursue, instead of having several naturally appear. I was expecting to travel…alone…in search of myself so I could write about the process of finding me.
And I wrote about almost all of that in less than six months…because everything has been moving so much quicker now that I’ve removed many of the obstacles that had blocked my path. Maybe I could dig a little deeper…stir up some new shit to explore…but why?
The point of this blog was never to force me to dig into anything. It was a means to write daily…to share my experiences…to explore my path….and I expected all of that to take so much longer than it has.
Sure I’m still experiencing “stuff” but it’s much more mundane. It’s everyday life kind of stuff. Gone — at least for now — are the big shifts. The meaty stuff that makes writing necessary…and reading intriguing.
So what do I do? What I once used to look forward to doing, I’ve now started to dread. What once brought me clarity and peace is now causing anxiety. What once gave me a daily purpose, now distracts from being in the moment.
There are days…like today…where I don’t want to write. Where I don’t want to spend the mental energy to figure out what I’m going to write about. Where I wish I’d never made the commitment to write everyday for a year. Where I wonder if it would even matter if I stopped.
What would happen if I stopped…or took a break? What would happen if rather than writing everyday, I wrote once a week…or when something moved me to write? What would be the big deal?
For starters, I would have to give myself permission to revise my commitment. I would have to allow myself the freedom to decide each day what was best for me, rather than just going through the motions because of something I said I’d do six months ago. I would have to grant myself a reprieve from an obligation that no longer serves me. I would have to ask myself, why am I doing this…and what changes if I stop?
If I stop writing this blog on a daily basis, am I less of a writer? Am I less talented…was I even talented to begin with? Do I become less relevant…and who am I even relevant to? Does writing this blog serve any other purpose than to check a to do off my list?
Could I look at stopping as a victory, instead of a failure? Have I accomplished what I set out to accomplish in half the time?
So many questions…and no firm answer…yet.