I haven’t been on here nearly as much as I had previously planned.
But you know what? I feel very differently about it than I how I used to. I think it’s because this is the first time in years that I feel like I finally know what I’m doing.
(Not that anyone really knows what the hell they’re doing).
All jokes aside though, honestly, I feel like my life is coming together after years of being at one stage and not quite knowing where I was going to set foot next. I’m comfortable in my own skin again and I’m happy with how everything is going. Crazy, eh?
Maybe being confused, agitated, antsy, or simply jumping from one temporary stage to the next is what made me write so much. It was my therapy—my psychological comfort when I felt I needed to vent or to indulge in a distraction.
There is something that worries me though: Is being busy and content the lethal mix that will make me stop writing? I don’t want to say it, because I don’t want to give it truth, but…I haven’t felt the need in a long time. Even before, when I had writer’s block, I had that unmistakable urge to do it. I just didn’t know how to express it.
But now…I just get so busy. But happy busy. I don’t even have things I want to write about. This is a major change from mere weeks ago, when my lack of an urge to write felt wrong on so many levels. Now, I’m (weirdly) all right.
I don’t want to accept this. Was writing really important to me only when I was in transitional stages? (College, university, being unemployed…). Come to think of it, when I worked for a while selling real estate in Qatar, I also didn’t write as much. Still, I did write more than now, and at least I still had the drive to do it.
So, what happened? Well, for one, it would be stupid to not acknowledge that my work and life in Qatar was a far cry from how it is here. It was much quieter, with a far more predictable routine. I had my own office, which was great, but I often spent hours on end by myself. (There were days where no one even popped by to say hello). I did whatever work I had, packed up, and left for the day. Of course, I would often walk to the other side of the building to check up with other employees, and sometimes socialize a bit, but that was about it. Then I’d drive back home, and my mom and I would chill for a while. We would go to the gym, maybe do some shopping and, if we were in the mood, ate out in the evenings.
What I’m in now is a 180-degree lifestyle difference. At work, I’m surrounded by people 10 hours a day. Even on a slow day, you still feel like there are still some things to do and new stuff to learn. I have costs and bills to keep up with, insurance to sign up for, a budget to set, and appointments to make. I live with my sister and my cousin, and we’re moving to a new place soon. It all adds up, and I feel like there’s so much going on, writing doesn’t even cross my mind.
Maybe if I keep all this up until it becomes run-of-the-mill, maybe I’ll find that need again. I don’t know.
I think this means I have to make time. Rediscover myself and my voice in who I am now.
I can’t lose this part of myself. I don’t think any good will come of it.