Just Write: Why Am I Not?

Every morning when I wake up, I meditate (horizontally) for several minutes thinking about the same things, and making mostly the same intentions.

Live today better than yesterday (extremely general, I know). Leap on opportunities that allow acts of kindness, but keep them to myself. Be more attentive to my loved ones. Write something. Anything. Just write.

Every morning I walk into town for coffee, assess how I’m feeling, and think about writing. Ideas spring forth most prevalently after the first few sips, but when I get back home I sit here. I sit here just like I am today consumed by meaningless distractions like web surfing through Facebook, Goodreads, my blog roll, etc. completely avoiding where my writing actually takes place, which is the desktop computer or my college ruled notebook both located in the study.

They pile on cumulatively, the days, becoming just another one without productive keystrokes or blue ink on my middle finger; thoughts and words that never make it to paper or the big, white screen.

Every day I see the proof, which is directly left of these exact words (my post activity). Although, I delude everyone including myself by saying I could be writing something bigger, more substantial that doesn’t include words in this space. It is sadly not so.

Like you, I get pulled and distracted into another compartment of my life, which is fine and wonderful (sometimes), but the feeling lingers. Sometimes all day. A dull ache sits on my chest like a pretty substantial paperweight, not disruptive but a constant reminder.

And every day I feel the same sense of disappointment in a “groundhog day” kind of way.  My lack of self-discipline and creativity, je ne sais quoi (not the good kind), haunts me the rest of the day.

Day-after-day I think, “Why am I not doing something that provides me with such intense fulfillment? Am I afraid?”

*********************

My feelings this moment, and written for Just Write.