I’ve been writing a lot about not knowing what to write. (Yes, I see the irony there.) It remains a recurring theme. Case in point, a portion of my journaling from just a couple days ago:
I am struggling to come up with content for this week’s post. Nothing. Again.
I don’t have the energy to write about anything “negative” (anger, capitalism, patriarchy, sexism, injustice, fear). So what, then? The repotted spider plant that doesn’t look like it’s going to survive? The fact that today is my niece Grace’s 10th birthday and I cannot remember that same landmark for either of my girls, even though I’m sure, at the time, I was certain I’d remember it forever? How I get lost in thought about ways I’ve failed as a mom? The struggle to let go of these thoughts – and even the girls themselves (appropriately and wisely)? About time—wasted, spent, imagined?
Hmmm. This last one offers me the slightest spark. Maybe? I’ll riff . . .
Time wasted: Any game on my phone, FB, IG, checking email, looking up random things on Google. Opening a book but stopping every chapter to repeat most of the above.
Time spent: Client calls. Consulting/training. Emails. Social media planning, creating, and scheduling. Stuff with my book. Some reading. Some writing. Dinner & TV with the fam. Weekends at the beach or eating out or running errands or all three. Rearranging furniture. Spending my credit on ThredUp. Watching movies. Adding something else to the upcoming wedding’s to-do list. Calls with the girls. Missing the girls. Reminding myself that they are the writers of their own story – not me.
Time imagined: Lost in the pages of a book. Lost in the pages of my own writing. Committed. Focused. Dedicated. Disciplined. Inspired. Motivated. Compelled. Having to pull myself away from the computer at the end of a writing day. More to say. More to offer. More to give. Pleased. Productive. Satisfied. Certain. Clear. Unstuck. Followers. Readers. Sitting at the beach. Walking. A commitment to my health. Drinking water. Invested in relationships that matter. Not spending money. Living simply.
Time is now both short and expansive. I’m lost somewhere in-between, I think. Transitioning from no time to lots of it, from endless days and years ahead to just the opposite. A liminal space. “Betwixt and between,” was the phrase I heard a day or so ago. I viscerally feel the internal demand to get my shit together, work harder, produce!! and there is a small and quiet part of me that can, sometimes, take a deep breath and remember that none of this is needed or remotely required.
Maybe I can allow that I don’t quite know how to (re)imagine my time . . . yet. Maybe I can allow that this is yet another transition I didn’t see coming. that I’m smack in the middle of. Maybe I can extend myself grace.
Maybe all of this IS this week’s post. Relatively unedited. Raw. True.
Maybe.
It feels too unorganized, too un-pretty. Yes. I already hear the question this sentence provokes: What would your writing be like, Ronna, if you were actually in it—emotional and present—instead of perfect and crafted and polished? Maybe you could offer it anyway: your inner workings, your doubts and questions, your own efforts at NOT rewriting. Hmmm.
Maybe.
As I look back over what I’ve written (and now shared), I don’t think this week’s post is really about time at all. Instead, maybe this:
- When I do actually write, I (eventually) land on something that has some grist to it; something I am interested in and curious about. The takeaway – for me and maybe you, as well? Keep writing. Keep writing. Keep writing. Persist. Persist. Persist. Stay. Stay. Stay.
- I’m far more committed to perfectionism than I care to admit. I desperately want my writing (and me-myself-and-I) to be genuine and “here,” present, right now, no matter what. For you, to be sure; even more, for me.
- Maybe most important of all is *just* being real. Showing up. Telling the truth. Even (and especially) when it’s hard or unclear or ambiguous; when I’m ambivalent or uncertain or wobbly. Because (and this is just a guess) you might be, as well.
Nothing neat and tidy to finish this up. But that sort of feels like the point. At least this week.
I hope you’ve found something/anything that rings true. I hope you stay with whatever it is that sometimes/often alludes you. I hope you’ll choose being present over being perfect. And I hope that maybe, just maybe, we can, together, not keep up the façade.
May it be so.