I can't write. I've tried and I've tried but I can't do it at the moment. Not in the way I would like to anyhow. Not even one of my Taking Stock posts. Tiredness, distraction by other things, not enough reading, not enough imagining.
I've tried to put together pieces for this blog, I miss writing and I miss the cathartic value of putting pen to paper. I miss stringing together words in sentences which don't sound basic. I miss having something to say. I miss knowing my tone and voice.
My routine is a tiring one, fulfilling in many ways, but harsh on other passions like this, like reading, like writing, like yoga. In this adjustment phase, each day is a single-lane road, my body exhausted and mind consumed. I'm not unhappy, I'm just not exploring much in the way that I used to. I'm unhappy about that but I'm working on it. I never put pressure on myself to post on here, I only ever did when there was something within me that could not be still. The words would spill out without even trying. So why should I worry about this inability to convey now? Is it just not the right time or place? Is this the end of my run here? Quite simply, it is unsettling because I have a hundred thoughts I want to share, and thousands of feelings that won't quieten til they're out, but no tool to paint them with.
Writing fluidly comes with practice, so step one is this post - not least because it doesn't sound exactly how I would like it to. Step two will be picking up a book and starting there. I do believe that to be able to write, you must first read. Step three might come from your advice if you have any.
Thanks for bearing with me during the radio silence. I hope to be back properly soon.
