Why I don't write.
I haven't written in a really long time - not on my blog, not in my journal, nowhere. Looking for reasons, I write this, hoping to find some answers unraveling my thoughts into words. Logically, there are many but when I ponder over them, there is only one that really matters -- that I have stopped believing in my writing... slowly and steadily. I am not particularly sure how that happened but it is important for me to acknowledge that it has. ..And try to think more.
I have always believed that writing is my calling, that this is what I will end up doing regardless of where I am now. Because I felt that way, imagining all the time in the world to do it at some point, I never invested in it. I have never spent time learning about the minutiae - writing on whims, basking in the feeling of happiness about the pieces being relate-able. But what happens when things don't happen in my life that are someone else's stories too, what do I write about then? May be that's my struggle now.
Or may be that I have forgotten what to pick from the mundane life as a result of losing perspective on others' lives that comes with losing conversations and empathy. Because I haven't connected with anyone for a long time, because I haven't heard words and emotions and silences, because I haven't seen the regular hustle bustle I was so used to, I don't have things to wonder about. I miss being surrounded by people I could pick up on, place myself as them, create a story, do it all over again with 100 people until I liked one of those to pen down.
I am not sure how I am going to tackle this, but had to start somewhere !
Adieu!
I have always believed that writing is my calling, that this is what I will end up doing regardless of where I am now. Because I felt that way, imagining all the time in the world to do it at some point, I never invested in it. I have never spent time learning about the minutiae - writing on whims, basking in the feeling of happiness about the pieces being relate-able. But what happens when things don't happen in my life that are someone else's stories too, what do I write about then? May be that's my struggle now.
Or may be that I have forgotten what to pick from the mundane life as a result of losing perspective on others' lives that comes with losing conversations and empathy. Because I haven't connected with anyone for a long time, because I haven't heard words and emotions and silences, because I haven't seen the regular hustle bustle I was so used to, I don't have things to wonder about. I miss being surrounded by people I could pick up on, place myself as them, create a story, do it all over again with 100 people until I liked one of those to pen down.
I am not sure how I am going to tackle this, but had to start somewhere !
Adieu!
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