Time and again it has been shown to me that when I think I have nothing write about, I end up writing a lot.
I haven’t always believed that, of course. I think all writers experience this. We end up calling it “writer’s block” most of the time, which prevents us from even attempting writing, so we never figure out that we’re not really blocked, we’re just in doubt.
I’d like to say I had no idea what I was going to write about when I sat down to write this blog post. I’d like to say that, but it’s not entirely true.
Because there’s having nothing to talk about, then there’s having nothing you want to talk about.
I really wanted to write something new. More than that, I wanted to be able to write about something different in my life, instead of what I seem to be writing about too much lately. And yet, I find myself writing about it again. And I’m tired of it.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m in the same place and not making progress. I’m tired of not being able to speak about all of this from the other side instead of from the inside. I’m tired of not being through it.
I don’t know if I’ve ever experienced a longer month than what July is turning out to be. I told myself if I could only get through it, August would be better. The book I’m working on will be done by then, ready to be published. I’m going to visit my family for two weeks. Plus, it’s my birthday; a date that has double symbolism because it will also mark one year since moving to Atlanta. Needless to say, August is shaping up to be a welcome change.
As if in response to the desire to get this month over with, July has seemingly dug in its heels, forcing me to fight through every hour of every day. And, as if that weren’t enough, getting to the end of the month now feels like something that will come sooner than I’m ready for. Bills, you know.
So, I didn’t want to write this post. I didn’t want to write another post about anxiety and how my life is a struggle and a fight and every time I feel like I might be getting a handle on it something else comes up. I didn’t want to tell you, once again, that we have to keep going, holding on to this thing called hope, that feels inadequate in our hands. Mostly because I didn’t want to hear it again myself.
But, when you don’t think you have anything to say is usually when you have a lot to say.
In the same way, when you have something that you don’t want to talk about, it’s a good bet that’s probably the thing you have to talk about.
I wrote on Instagram over the weekend that we have to hold on for tomorrow because tomorrow might just bring what we’ve been waiting for. That’s hard, but it’s the truth.
In the same way, we have to keep telling ourselves these things. We have to hold onto hope even when it feels inadequate. Because we never know, the next moment might prove it right. That seems a good reason to hold on.
So we hold on. And we write about the things we don’t want to write about.
Because we never have nothing to say.