Sometimes it’s really hard to write.
If you’ve ever sat down and had to write a paper for school, blog post for work, or even just an email you know what I’m talking about.
The cursor just blinking back at you. Mocking your very existence as you try to formulate words that sum up your jumbled up mess of thoughts or feelings.
It’s actually a very intimidating task; at least, it is for me.
Maybe it’s of the perfectionist streak in me that wants everything to be just right before I push the “Publish” button. Maybe it’s the fear of being judged by my incomplete thoughts and incoherent ramblings. Maybe it’s the insecurity of wondering whether what I write will actually have an impact on anyone else than the one who is writing.
The more and more I write consistently, the more I come up against this road block. The tension between churning out something that’s crafted and thought-provoking or just spilling thoughts and feelings onto the blank page.
Most of the time it is some weird combination of both.
Because every time I sit down to write it ends up being a therapy session for this inner dialogue going on in my head. It’s like writing the words down is the only way to bring order to the chaos of ideas that race through my mind on an all too often basis. It brings a sense of clarity, calm, and purpose as each sentence is pulled out and put on the page.
It just makes sense.
Maybe that’s just what writing is for me: a way to untangle the mess and give structure to the loose bits of random thoughts that occupy my mind. Some write to express themselves; I don’t think this is expression as much as it is condensing. Some write to teach others; I don’t think this is teaching as it is synthesizing. Some write to share their opinion with others; I don’t think opinions are helpful without first framing a perspective.
All that to say, I think my writing is some odd form of processing ideas, concepts, and thoughts into coherent understanding so I might be able to accurately communicate my thoughts and feelings.
And that is terrifyingly difficult to do time and time again.
It means you’re vulnerable. It means your honest. It means your messy. It means your rough around the edges. It means you fail. It means you use the space bar more than the delete key.
To be honest, this post was more about expressing thoughts and sentiments around the idea of what it means for me to write and less about a polished set of ideals I ascribe to in order to write. I didn’t carefully edit this post; I only erased spelling errors and word-choice changes. It was just an outflowing of my random thoughts on what it means for me to write.
Sure, it can easily turn into a stream of consciousness essay or a therapy session, but that’s what makes it so damn difficult: writing has this strange mind of its own.
You can start with one conclusion in mind and end up somewhere completely different with no clue how you got there.
I blame the blinking cursor.