Increasingly I have seen the advice that one ought to write every day, in order to be a serious writer. In which case, not only have I never been a serious writer, any hope of that as of late is completely out the window. Only, that isn’t exactly true. Anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time can attest to the fact that I have been writing at least since I was 10 years old, and even then I took it very seriously. Yet here again I find myself, not writing. For a rather prolonged period of time now, I have written nothing new, save for a few blog posts and some script notes for vlogs, and honestly, it’s maddening. Somewhere in my head, I know that I’ve been here before, and I’m trying to be patient with myself. To take it easy, and trust that when it is time for me to write again, I will. But of course, my lack of writing has driven me into an all too familiar existential crisis. What am I, who am I, if not a writer?
Of course, that’s a silly question. You’re never not a writer. The urge to write never truly goes away. Even if the muse does disappear for a moment. It always returns. Even now I am writing something, it’s just not the something I feel I ought to be writing. Which of course, isn’t how any of this works, yet still I try to bend the Universe to my will, hoping, praying, that somehow it will give me what I want. As if overthinking, overanalyzing, and overstressing about not writing has ever produced more work from anyone.
I’ve always put pressure on myself to work harder, do more, write more, be better, and though to some these are signs of a ‘good work ethic’ it leads to the problems I now find myself in. Burnout. You become so exhausted from doing so much and never giving yourself time to rest and recharge that you find yourself doing not much of anything at all.
Except that I am doing something, and that scares me a little bit. Because if I’m vlogging, more than I am writing, what happens to my life as a writer? Can I ever go back, or am I simply now, someone who does YouTube, no longer a writer, barely a person who can find themselves creating a proper sentence anymore. It’s hard to complain. This was my decision after all, and if I honestly believed YouTube is the reason I’m not writing, shouldn’t I stop? Wouldn’t I stop?
The trouble is, I’ve been here before. Each time feels more and more like the end, and yet, I can’t help but hold out a sliver of hope, that each time, as before, I will eventually get back to work.