Old Beginnings
For nearly a year and a half now I get sudden urges to write. It doesn't happen daily, but it happens often enough that it has been heavy on my mind for quite some time now. I always made some type of excuse to put it off. School is so stressful, do you really have the energy to write "for fun" right now? My laptop is so far away... Do you really want to get up and get it? But Kristi, you have to log into your email, open up a new post... it's just too much work. Instead of getting my lazy ass up and writing, I would doze off into my own little reality for a few minutes, writing in my head. If I did have my laptop handy, I would begin by saying this...
I kid you not, I did this early today. I nearly wrote that first paragraph in my head this morning. But did I get up and write? No. I had such a pressing need to write. But I still refrained from getting out my laptop.
Fear. As I reflect on why I have kept myself from writing for so long, I wonder what is stopping me? Truly, what is stopping me. Fear. What am I afraid of? It's not like I’m writing a 10 page paper for class and have to make sure that each word is chosen with certain absolution, pretending to act like I have a firm grip on capitalism as I try to bullshit my way through connecting the "evolution of the zombie" with the evolution of capitalism. Fear. Why am I so afraid of writing? I worry that the words I create won't be good enough. But good enough for who? I set high standards for myself that I fear I won’t reach. How can I even have an unbiased opinion of my own work anyways? Who cares if I don’t write a masterpiece each time I sit down and spew words onto the screen. Fear that I somehow have a burst of inspiration in my mind, but as soon as I go to put those thoughts into words the words will fall flat and come out completely different than I had pictured in my mind. Fear that someone will somehow find my words and read them and say, "What a fool. Pretending like anything she writes is worth a damn."
I know that to become a good writer you have to actually write. You can’t avoid it. Just like anything else in life you must practice and work at it every day. You have to hone the skill because it doesn't come naturally, at least not to me, I suppose. I want to be a good writer, yet I refuse to actually create anything. I let fear stand in the way for a year and a half. I have let so many missed opportunities of pure, intense inspiration and yearning to write slide away from me that I feel as there is a mountain of thoughts piled inside my brain that are begging to be released. It's almost as if the more time that went by the more I feared writing because I wouldn't be able to focus on just one thought. There are so many thoughts bundled up, how would I be able to just pick one and write?
I used to write all the time for school, but somehow I still felt like I never really did. There was always a prompt, always a guideline, always a grade attached, always multiple sets of eyes reading, judging, critiquing, never a sense of true ownership in the words I wrote. I never wrote for me, truly. I was writing to get a diploma.
Maybe I felt burnt out. Writing essay after essay, analyzing Dickinson, brit lit classics I never truly enjoyed. By the end of the day, no matter how pressing my inspiration felt, I always thought but do you really want to go stare at that computer screen and type some more?
I think my biggest issue is that I try to make excuses for any delay in putting words down on paper, or screen. So what your laptop is 20 feet away from you. So what you have to turn your computer on. So what you don't get to watch Netflix for 20 minutes. It has been so long now that I have written anything that I worry I will forget how to write even in the simplest of ways.
During student teaching I kept saying to myself keep a diary of how you feel, what happened this week, your progress, your struggles. Did I do that? Of course not. And now I have gained nothing from that decision except regret.
The last time I wrote an essay was in June of 2018. It has been more than 6 months since I have written an essay. I constantly fear that I am going to forget everything I learned in the two years I worked toward an English major. I feel as though in school I used to do nothing but write. It was something I loved yet dreaded at the same time. Another 7 page paper? Great. Wonderful. Lovely. But the fact of the matter is that in those two years my writing improved more than I ever imagined. I had professors telling me how pleased they were with my growth in writing. How skilled my essays were. Was it really that good? I felt like I bullshitted my way through the whole thing? Do I actually know what I’m doing? How do I know if I know what I’m doing? To be honest, I miss the pressure and constant routine of having to write even if it wasn't for myself. And by that I mean it wasn't personal writing, it wasn't reflective, introspective writing. But school was always a reason to keep me writing and push myself.
I get such random bursts of intense, overwhelming emotions that I feel I need to write them down to completely process them. It has been a year and a half that I have put that off. As I sit here and type this, the quiet clicking of the keys being pushed is therapeutic. Maybe what I am writing doesn't have to be good, or well thought out for it to have soul and heartache and emotion. Maybe it can just be what it is and I can be content with it. Not every piece of writing has to be "A-worthy." Maybe I can find peace in knowing that I have tried my best, or not even my best, but I at least made some type of effort to do something about the yearning to write.
As I continue to write, I will push myself to be better. Not every time. But every other time. I will push myself to get uncomfortable and to stretch the boundaries of the boundless words I type on the screen. I will push myself to find peace in knowing that old beginnings are just as thrilling and full of possibilities as they would be had I started writing a year and a half ago.
I kid you not, I did this early today. I nearly wrote that first paragraph in my head this morning. But did I get up and write? No. I had such a pressing need to write. But I still refrained from getting out my laptop.
Fear. As I reflect on why I have kept myself from writing for so long, I wonder what is stopping me? Truly, what is stopping me. Fear. What am I afraid of? It's not like I’m writing a 10 page paper for class and have to make sure that each word is chosen with certain absolution, pretending to act like I have a firm grip on capitalism as I try to bullshit my way through connecting the "evolution of the zombie" with the evolution of capitalism. Fear. Why am I so afraid of writing? I worry that the words I create won't be good enough. But good enough for who? I set high standards for myself that I fear I won’t reach. How can I even have an unbiased opinion of my own work anyways? Who cares if I don’t write a masterpiece each time I sit down and spew words onto the screen. Fear that I somehow have a burst of inspiration in my mind, but as soon as I go to put those thoughts into words the words will fall flat and come out completely different than I had pictured in my mind. Fear that someone will somehow find my words and read them and say, "What a fool. Pretending like anything she writes is worth a damn."
I know that to become a good writer you have to actually write. You can’t avoid it. Just like anything else in life you must practice and work at it every day. You have to hone the skill because it doesn't come naturally, at least not to me, I suppose. I want to be a good writer, yet I refuse to actually create anything. I let fear stand in the way for a year and a half. I have let so many missed opportunities of pure, intense inspiration and yearning to write slide away from me that I feel as there is a mountain of thoughts piled inside my brain that are begging to be released. It's almost as if the more time that went by the more I feared writing because I wouldn't be able to focus on just one thought. There are so many thoughts bundled up, how would I be able to just pick one and write?
I used to write all the time for school, but somehow I still felt like I never really did. There was always a prompt, always a guideline, always a grade attached, always multiple sets of eyes reading, judging, critiquing, never a sense of true ownership in the words I wrote. I never wrote for me, truly. I was writing to get a diploma.
Maybe I felt burnt out. Writing essay after essay, analyzing Dickinson, brit lit classics I never truly enjoyed. By the end of the day, no matter how pressing my inspiration felt, I always thought but do you really want to go stare at that computer screen and type some more?
I think my biggest issue is that I try to make excuses for any delay in putting words down on paper, or screen. So what your laptop is 20 feet away from you. So what you have to turn your computer on. So what you don't get to watch Netflix for 20 minutes. It has been so long now that I have written anything that I worry I will forget how to write even in the simplest of ways.
During student teaching I kept saying to myself keep a diary of how you feel, what happened this week, your progress, your struggles. Did I do that? Of course not. And now I have gained nothing from that decision except regret.
The last time I wrote an essay was in June of 2018. It has been more than 6 months since I have written an essay. I constantly fear that I am going to forget everything I learned in the two years I worked toward an English major. I feel as though in school I used to do nothing but write. It was something I loved yet dreaded at the same time. Another 7 page paper? Great. Wonderful. Lovely. But the fact of the matter is that in those two years my writing improved more than I ever imagined. I had professors telling me how pleased they were with my growth in writing. How skilled my essays were. Was it really that good? I felt like I bullshitted my way through the whole thing? Do I actually know what I’m doing? How do I know if I know what I’m doing? To be honest, I miss the pressure and constant routine of having to write even if it wasn't for myself. And by that I mean it wasn't personal writing, it wasn't reflective, introspective writing. But school was always a reason to keep me writing and push myself.
I get such random bursts of intense, overwhelming emotions that I feel I need to write them down to completely process them. It has been a year and a half that I have put that off. As I sit here and type this, the quiet clicking of the keys being pushed is therapeutic. Maybe what I am writing doesn't have to be good, or well thought out for it to have soul and heartache and emotion. Maybe it can just be what it is and I can be content with it. Not every piece of writing has to be "A-worthy." Maybe I can find peace in knowing that I have tried my best, or not even my best, but I at least made some type of effort to do something about the yearning to write.
As I continue to write, I will push myself to be better. Not every time. But every other time. I will push myself to get uncomfortable and to stretch the boundaries of the boundless words I type on the screen. I will push myself to find peace in knowing that old beginnings are just as thrilling and full of possibilities as they would be had I started writing a year and a half ago.
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