“Hey! I love your blog by the way.”
That’s hilarious, considering I haven’t written shit in two weeks, I thought.
Stop it. Just shut up and say thank you. “Hey thanks! Remind me of your name again?”
“Nina. And yea—every time you write something, I’m like ‘Someone else thinks that way?’”
I replaced my fake smile with a real one and thanked Nina one more time. My fellow Cut Seven badass was drenched in sweat and was already halfway out the door—presumably to eat her weight in brunch or pass out.
I, in comparison, was one hundred percent dry and ready to head across town to half-ass a pool workout.
Someone else thinks that way. That right there, is the single best compliment anyone could give me. Because the posts I write—at least the ones I write well—are really just my thoughts, transcribed. It doesn’t feel like I’m writing them. It’s more like, my brain is narrating my life for me. And I just type down what it says.
But for the past two weeks, that little voice inside my head that makes writing so easy, just hasn’t been there.
I waded out to the deep end and started the same, boring AF workout I’d done for eight days straight. What the hell was wrong with me? Not only had I not written a single line of text, I didn’t have the desire to.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a loud inner dialogue. Obnoxiously loud. So loud in fact, that it writes a blog post on my walk home each night. Then I wake up the next morning and type it.
I don’t know where that voice went, but homegirl took her first PTO days in twenty-eight years.
Writing is something that makes me genuinely happy, but lately I’ve been too busy to make time for it.
Too busy? I thought. I hate that word. EVERYONE is busy, and I made time for writing when I had less freedom than I do now.
Well, you’ve been super sick. True. Pretty sure my main source of calories was coming from swallowing my own mucus—hence why I had been quarantined to the pool for a week.
And you’ve been making your work a priority. Another valid point. I’m almost half-a-year into going 100% freelance, and I don’t have a boss breathing down my neck (THANK GOD) about my next deadline.
Exactly. So you have to be that voice. You have to know what to-dos are “for fun”—like your blog, and which pay your rent. EXACTLY! No wonder I haven’t written shit lately. How could I possibly justify writing a post with the other ten bazillion things I should be doing?
My God, it’s so nice to be in here without feeling rushed. It was soooooo true. I loved the pool on the weekends. It stayed open all day, unlike weekends where it closed between the hours of eight and five. I always managed to just finish my intervals as the whistle blew, forced to jump out of the pool before a proper cool down.
Well, maybe that’s why you haven’t been able to write lately—or think clearly enough TO write. You keep cutting yourself off before you can finish a post, seventy-percent there, so you can’t form a proper argument. Just how these shitty pool hours don’t allow for a proper workout. That was JUST it! I was so caught up in my own fake deadlines I couldn’t—
HOLY SHIT THAT LITTLE VOICE WAS BACK.
I wrote my first post in two weeks in that pool. With no deadline to hit and nowhere to rush off to, my creative brain came back.
Not because I had my Mac with me, not because I had something genius to say. I wrote it because I actually allowed myself to. I could hear myself think because I gave myself time to think.
Recently, I made this really stupid rule recently where I had to be done blogging by 9AM. Why? Who knows. I’m a moron. If I had a regular job with desks and fluorescent lighting, blogging past nine wouldn’t even be an option. I guess.
That rule butchered my creativity.
And why wouldn’t it?? I have been telling myself on repeat for two weeks that I shouldn’t spend my time and energy writing. So how could I possibly activate that part of my brain? It’s like constantly telling your friends you’re too busy to hang out—eventually, they’ll just stop asking.
Wonder why you’re not doing something? Maybe you’re not giving yourself the time to complete it.
When was the last time you worked out without rushing to get home afterward? Or grabbed lunch with a friend even though it wasn’t planned? When was the last time you said, “Yes, I actually DO have time, I would love to,” even though it wasn’t a priority, it wasn’t on your to-do list, but it WAS important because it was something you genuinely enjoyed?
You have the time. Don’t rush it. And yes, if you’ve been thinking about it this long, it’s important.