Danger ahead

I’m going to have to be careful, because I’m getting too many ideas. Whenever this happens, I risk disappearing into a soup of half-started projects, entangled in competing priorities and counter-productive overexcitement. I risk making bad decisions. I risk losing what I’ve already built.

And when I read that back, it sounds pretty serious. It sounds like some pretty maladaptive impulsivity. Yeah. I’m going to have to be careful. But, Once Upon A Time, it wasn’t just a risk, it was a guarantee. So I guess that’s something.

Time to level up?

What am I doing?

If I wanted to be a blogger, there are a whole lot of other ways I could be going about it that would be better than this. But I don’t, especially. I want to be a writer.

And I think I only mean that in the most basic of senses. Just that I am a person who writes. Ideally, a person who writes well.

I have always, when allowed to exist unfettered, been a writer. But the bleakest times of my life coincide with the most pages left blank, because I let myself be easily stifled. Part of this endeavour has been to consciously resist my tendency to fall silent in appeasement.

When I started this originally, while pregnant, my aim was just to write something every day. I failed fairly quickly. This time around, my aim was to write something worth writing every day. I confess I’ve actually missed one day, and a few of my posts were maybe scraping the barrel, but, even if I have failed, I’ve failed less.

The thing that is irking me now is this: I’m not trying to get people to look at this. And so not many people are looking at this. And so, I may be writing something worth writing, but am I writing something worth reading?

To find that out, I need more feedback. And that’s going to require me to do work that isn’t just writing. And I don’t fucking want to. But that’s where we are. And that’s my choice if I want to level up. And that’s very inconvenient for me.

So what’s it gonna be?

Ideas lying dormant

I have all kinds of good ideas for things I could do to progress my life, improve myself, and create what I desire. It should be noted that they come from the extensive amount of time I spend studying and exploring such topics, rather than some innate wellspring of inspiration, but that’s beside the point.

I act on maybe a handful from every pile. Because most of them require more courage than I care to exert. They would require me to step far enough outside of expectations that I’d feel very exposed. And often I just don’t feel like I have the energy to process that additional discomfort. Because, from experience, it takes a lot of bandwidth. So I watch myself, in real-time, making sub-par but safe decisions. And I have a conversation with myself about how I should choose the braver option, and yes I know I should, but I’m not going to, no, I’m not going to, and that’s going to mean I still don’t step more fully into who I should be, and I know that, but I’m still not going to do it, I’m afraid not, but one day I’m going to have to do it, yes, and I could just choose to do it today, I could, but I won’t, no, oh well, oh well.

Virtuous qualities cannot be installed overnight. And courage is probably the weightiest of all virtues. I get that this is a long term investment. But I do wonder how much use it is observing this disparity. I know growth often comes in fits and spurts – long periods battling immoveable objects that suddenly dematerialise – and I guess that’s what I’m hoping for, and in some sense putting my trust in. There’s usually a key to unlocking such a miracle, though. So am I hunting hard enough?

Compromised

I’m here for the endeavour, but I don’t want to write tonight.

The collective energy feels heavy, cynical and despairing. My personal energy is depleted. As much as I am committed to keeping this daily, I have nothing to say right now. I am in need of my bubble. I want to retreat.

I am disappointed in such apparent lack of fortitude, but times like these are wont to throw us off our game. I know I will recover. And to be in something for the long haul means being okay with a short term compromise.

The slippery slope of cake and lost vegetables

For a while during this, I impressed myself with how I managed my life. For the person who finds it difficult to keep to a toothbrushing schedule, living a boundaryless life in the slippery time-space of home, with a fucking TWO YEAR OLD to boot, sounded like a bad idea.

But I kept us eating healthily, we exercised every day, I planned enriching activities, I got done what I needed to get gone, I deep cleaned the house every week, I planned ahead and I kept on top of things. I took care of us well, and I had fun doing it.

Now it’s getting stale.

I mean, it had to be expected. But I’m still a little disappointed in myself.

I’m thinking about pizza and I ate two slices of cake tonight. My son’s bored of the exercise routine and I can’t be bothered to think of any more ways to make it new and exciting. Sometimes now when he asks to watch TV outside of a TV-designated time I just say okay because, frankly, that sounds quite nice. I noticed the bath felt kinda grungy tonight but just filled it up anyway. I might run out of vegetables this week. And I didn’t clean my teeth until 6pm.

It’s all totally fine, but just a little bit blah.

And the reason I’m writing this, really, is so I can laugh at myself, because OF COURSE IT FUCKING IS. There were totally some good, useful, nurturing, relieving things to come out of lockdown for me. But this is not how we are supposed to live. It’s weird as shit, and it’s getting old. Just let it be what it fucking well is, Yve.

Part of me is clearly worrying that I’m on the slippery slope of a tragic descent into complete disorder. And in fairness, that is possible. I’ve descended into complete disorder before. But I don’t think that’s where I’m headed. I think I’m just a perfectly human human, humaning in a perfectly human way.