The thing about writing about how I can’t write is that I can’t write it because I don’t like what I’m writing. If I don’t like what I’m writing then it is impossible for me to like what I’m writing about how I can’t write. So, I’m going to write about other things that are happening to me. Like how I feel like a pendulum these days, fluctuating between feeling really content and feeling really depressed. I don’t know what it is, don’t know how to cure myself—I honestly think I’m on the verge of believing that humans can’t truly be happy. I’ve thought about it and writing doesn’t make me happy. It gives me a sense of purpose, sure, makes me feel fulfilled; but not happy. That’s it, all my creative endeavors don’t make me happy. The things I love to do will never make me happy. And, that’s fine. A sense of fulfilment and purpose keep me mentally and emotionally healthy. But, for the days that I am unable to feel creative, those days when I am neither happy nor purposeful—
The other day, I had an existential crisis. That’s what Google searches brought me to, the fact that I felt life was meaningless. I have always felt this way but it has been buried under those stretches of creative realization and happiness, rearing its head when I was neither of those things. That day I was bored and there was no way to salvage that feeling. And then I had a breakdown.
There’s another aspect to it. An overwhelming and insecure aspect to it. I recently got asked to become a contributing writer for two publications (a dream come true! wonderful opportunities!). I’ve been panicking ever since I agreed to write for them. I’ve begun doubting my abilities, become envious and intimidated by the works of more experienced writers, become intimidated by the quality of writing on those sites, wondering “how will I ever measure up to this?”
The thing is, I won’t. I never will measure up to them because it’s impossible. We are on different writing paths. We’re writing about different things. I’m not a terrible writer. I’m a good writer. These are things I know. The issue now is to apply this knowledge. So, that’s the kind of person I want to become. I want to put aside my insecurities and become confident. Even in this writing drought, I’m still good.
In my introductory statements I said I didn’t want to write about how I couldn’t write. But I did. And I found a solution. This little piece of writing I’ve just written is not my best writing. But it’s writing. It’s effort. It’s me. And that’s not a problem.