I Keep Forgetting I’m A Writer
A weird thing happens to me sometimes. I work, I make money. Business is good, money is nice. I work in my garden. I read books. I play my guitar. But then, after a week or so, it all starts to feel stale and distant.
I have a great life. I like my work, my home, my hobbies and my family. But often, I get into this weird mental state. Like someone other than me is doing all those things and the real me is just sitting in a corner languishing. Like I’m spending my time and energy doing the wrong thing completely.
And then, suddenly, I realize what’s going on.
The one thing I must do
I forgot I’m a writer. Again. Doing all this other stuff, I did not make enough time to write down the things that go on in my head. I forgot that, although I do almost exclusively things that I enjoy (for which I am infinitely grateful), there is one thing that I not only enjoy (most of the time, anyway), but that I actually must do in order to be me.
Write.
Why? Because.
Why? I have no idea. I need to write because I need to write. It has been in me since I was little. It has nothing to do with ideas of success or money or attention. I really don’t care about how much I make from it (yes, I do check my Partner Program earnings, but then I have like $2 and go ok, who cares, I already have money). I also do not care if not many people read it (I wrote an entire poetry collection, put it on my poetry blog and, texted the link to my mother, my brother and one friend. Because sometimes, one reader is enough). The act of writing something and then publishing it, experiencing the endorphin rush of delivering a piece of writing that is ‘done’, is what I crave.
What’s in my head needs to come out
The strange thing is I’m a copywriter, so I write and publish all the time. But that’s not the kind of writing I crave. Because, as a copywriter, I pen down other people’s ideas. And doing a good job at that gives me satisfaction, but it is not the satisfaction I am looking for. I can only feel successful if ideas that are in my head toke shape as written words.
It may be an addiction. It may be an illness. It may just be what I am. And I really, really should start paying more attention to my deep-felt need to write regularly.
