For those who checked in, asked where I disappeared to, or wondered about my early retirement from blogging, thank you. I am here, alive and well, and still remember the password to my laptop.
The truth is, I have not written in two weeks, and because a simple explanation would be too ordinary and very unlike me, here are the actual reasons, listed honestly, dishonestly, and somewhere in between.
1. Global politics became another thing. Every time I opened my laptop to write, I would read fresh news. One minute war, the next minute elections, next minute speeches, headlines falling like rain. At some point I felt rude writing about ordinary life when the world was on a roll.
2. Donald Trump nearly getting shot, and Sebastian Sawe's sub 2-hour run somehow interrupted my concentration. You cannot sit calmly and write about potholes or morning jogs when international news is streaming in on all angles about all sorts of things. Eish, my thoughts scattered.
3. Work decided I should earn my salary. I experienced days where I would open one document, then another, then another, then workshops and by the evenings my brain would have fried or reached full capacity and switched off.
4. Thoughts and ideas did come to mind as usual, but always at inconvenient times. Excellent opening paragraphs came while driving. Strong endings came while bathing. Sharp observations came while talking to someone important. By the time I sat down, the ideas had packed their bags and evaporated. I hope they found their way to someone else's mind - someone who was paying more attention.
5. The clock has been misbehaving. I do not know if it is just me, but time has become shorter lately. I cannot prove it scientifically, but I am convinced somebody somewhere adjusted the hours and forgot to notify the rest of us.
6. Travel confused my time. The days felt shorter, the mornings too early, the evenings too quick. Although physically present, my sense of time was off.
7. Fatigue fatigue fatigue. At the end of each day, I was so tired I would stare at a sentence, write and rewrite it, and then decide sleeping is also an acceptable literary decision.
8. Some thoughts and ideas simply refused to become paragraphs. Life gave me material - lots of things to write about, but it just sat there like raw cassava, valuable, but not yet ready for serving.
9. I considered that silence might make me look mysterious. Hahaha was this a dangerous idea? Two days of silence feels mysterious, day three felt artistic, but two weeks started inviting concern, it was no longer the demand/supply dynamics.
10. I missed writing, but I also wanted to miss it enough to return full swing I have since experienced that writing every day feels like duty, and sometimes leaving it alone for a moment lets it call you back, like an old friend asking where you disappeared to.
Anyway, enough excuses, I am back.
The stories did not stop, and life certainly did not slow down. If anything, my notebook is now crowded and my mind is full.
To everyone who checked in, thank you. That small kindness matters more than you know.
My feet are moving again, so the writing must follow.
No comments:
Post a Comment