It’s been a bit. Posting and stuff. Writing hasn’t gotten easier. Or, at least, my improvement is so minuscule that I can’t possibly notice. I don’t know. Maybe it has gotten easier, but I’m in for the long road so I know I’m not going to get better just over a couple of months. It took twenty plus years, college, and the perfect wife and kitty cat, just for me to reach the point I could start a blog.
So, while I could wish and hope that I was some unseen genius, improvement is going to go just as slow. Maybe in a couple of years I might be able to confidently call myself a worthy writer. But, I’m not expecting that now. I don’t have the confidence, or the temprament.
I have to expect and find joy in the work. I think I have that at least. If I didn’t, I don’t think I would have stayed attach to writing like I have.
I started this blog just for writing. I started it because I knew I needed it. I needed the ‘push’. I needed that drive to be better. To force the ideas and reasons to write more.
I’m on my own for a couple of days. No wife. Just me and my thoughts, and the blog of course. And it’s strange. My wife and I joke that I’m the struggling trophy husband.
It’s nice to think. It feels nice. But, my brain knows it all. The deep down stuff. I don’t like to think of myself as dependent on anyone. I like to think that if I was thrown around I could survive. That if weird things happened, I could support myself.
I’m very dependent on my wife.
Anxiety likes to shoot me in the face when I think about this stuff. And my writing ability doesn’t help. It’s a habit from the ‘rough’ times of my life. Back when everyday was a struggle. My mind would run rampant back then, and I would think of the what ifs. I would do it to keep myself preoccupied. Then, I would write a story. It became a cycle that continues on today.
The classic overactive imagination thing.
It’s somewhat easier now that I have an outlet. Everything doesn’t get stuck in there. Before the blog, I hadn’t done poetry since college. Now, I feel a bit more confident about it.
I think that’s the main thing I’m looking for in this isolation in isolation stasis.
Is the blog worth it?
That’s like asking me if I think writing is worth it…
Always. Eventually the practice will build. All I got to do is keep writing. Which I was going to do anyway. Might as well share.
One thought on “Isolation and Writing”
I can somewhat relate. But lately I’ve been taking my anxiety as a notification from my subconscious. Is there anything I’m neglecting? Was there some way I could’ve better spent my day? Am I trying hard enough? Now instead of fearing it, I listen, even though most times I don’t get the answer. Thanks for sharing!