As long as I remember myself I loved to write. The things I loved to write most were short observations and ideas. Probably since it took so little effort.
Not sure why writing became such a crucial part of thought process for me. But the fact remains that I think best when I write or type.
The greatest feeling you can get while writing is when you’re completely zoned out and let the fingers type or write the things that you didn’t even know you think. It’s the most meditative, healing and inspiring thing I know.
But you can only write like this if you write often, a lot and with gusto.
As I was saying, I don’t remember when I started to write for pleasure. But I do remember when I stopped. And how much it sucked. Since then, for three years or so, I tried to start to write. But it all felt forced and insincere. So I stopped it all together.
And all the thoughts that I poured on the paper on keyboard before, were now trapped in my head. And not being able to write, I didn’t have my coping mechanism to analyze what’s happening and digest the things that were happening to me.
So experiences, traumas, ideas, adventures kept coming in and I did nothing with them. Just passively observed my life and hated myself for not writing it down.
Reasoning behind not writing
- To some extend I stopped writing because I felt like there’s nothing new I can say to the world.
I read some of my old texts and saw how naive they were. And then I thought about how many people saw them. And that really disappointed me. I thought about all the great writers and philosophers and all the things they wrote to form our understanding of life. So I kind of compared myself to them and thought that I can’t contribute anything. It felt like anything I could write would be just paraphrasing something that was said a thousand times before.
- At the same time I felt the pressure of having to write something good after not having published anything in years. You can’t just publish a regular facebook update after you’ve been of the radar for 3 years (at least I thought so). So any time I wanted to write, I always looked at the idea first and asked myself if it’s really something I want to come back with.
- I stopped seeing point in writing down what was happening to me. Because I never really went back to read the daily posts I wrote in school. So the lazy part of me convinced the productive one that it’s just spending energy on something you’ll never use. (which of course was wrong)
- For weeks I couldn’t find the courage to actually open my laptop and start writing. Even though I had plenty of time. It’s kind of like when you don’t see your friend for a while, and don’t try to see them because you’re afraid that you won’t have anything to talk about.
- I felt like writing might be an outdated way to communicate thoughts. As a marketer I kept reading all the bullshit posts about the importance of video and visual content. So any time I thought about reviving my blog, I considered starting a youtube channel instead. But since I really didn’t want to do that, I just did nothing.
- I didn’t think I had any unique experiences or enough expertise I could share. Which is partly true. But now I see that writing is selfish in nature.
How I got myself to start writing again
One day I understood that I’ve been suffering from constant panic attacks for at least a year in a row and it became the normal state of being for me.
Of course, it didn’t feel normal, I just didn’t remember how it was not to feel this way.
I tried to analyze what led me there and understood that it was the 6 previous jobs I had.
Each new position made me more stressed and since I couldn’t write, I wasn’t solving the problems that were piling up inside of me.
So I took a break from everything. For a month I tried to do as little as I could. I was talking to my friends and family a lot. I did my best to analyze the experiences and mistakes I made since I stopped writing (there were plenty).
After a while, as I unfolded everything that was laying on my love to write, I started to feel that it was alive under all these piles of garbage.
It felt like there was a plant that I covered up with a ton of dusty clothing. And it should have died there since it didn’t have light or fresh air for so long. But for some reason it lived. And when it saw the light and air again, it instantly started to feel better.
I can’t say that I started writing and enjoying it at once after that. I just saw that I still have it in me so I can work on restoring my relations with writing.
I was really afraid that I would lose it again, so I was really careful with how much and what I write. I still am.
But as any muscle, you need to give it work to do if you want to make it stronger.
So I’m starting this blog to keep me motivated and in shape (writing-wise).
Anyway, we’ll see how it turns out.