I am creatively barren. When I started my job, one of the side-effects was this proverbial mental hysterectomy. And it's like I got to keep my ovaries so I'm not crying about it much and all that, but I can no longer make brain babies. I want to, so I may have to take Halloween to its full potential and find a surrogate uterus. Take someone else's for myself. Frankenstein's Monster brain baby-maker. This metaphor is 100% accurate and good and not at all lacking in how the return of my creativity will play out.
And it's fine. I just appear to be experiencing a drought in the midst of my new technical job adjustment and it's fine it's FINE because my mom said my brain has to come out and help me anyway even though it's not super free right now and even though it still says 'too bad' and it's fine because it will I know it will.
Side-effect #2: run-on sentences! They're great right now where I am. Love me anyway.
Really, the only problem in instances like this, where newness interferes with business as usual for a while, is continually being tempted to put pressure ourselves to be as we always are. For me, I would choose to be writing often still and doing a great job at it with flow and ease. I have still written in my free time, but nothing inspiring, nothing that jumps out at me as something I want to return to and bother to edit, little more than blurbs about my hypochondria and routines.
But SOMEthing comes of even bland thoughts eventually because they are from a new place. Trust in that eventuality and keep on keeping on doing anything productive that feels good. That's my only task for the present: Don't aim to simply get comfortable. Comfort is where routine happens and routine leads to ruts and ruts lead to steeper hills on the road to self-improvement and that's no fun when you're just a commuter who hates riding uphill on her bike.
It is uncomfortable to suddenly enter an environment with a formidable learning curve to surmount and few skills to start with. It can smother creativity, which might normally be like a bunch of fat, happy chickens clucking around happily in the dirt, looking for special nuggets and making noise that some might find charming while also popping out eggs that are universally nutritious. And perhaps my mixed metaphors here are simply a metaphor all together for not putting all one's precious eggs in one basket. No, probably not. But, you see, I try.
To fill the space when I hit a writing block and realize I won't be losing myself in a writing time warp that will carry me instantaneously to bedtime, I have been running more, taking Rufus for extra long walks, and decorating for Halloween like a psycho.
It has been good, overall, to have this free time dedicated to seeking enjoyment in new ways. To enjoy the calm when my brain is fried. And, man, I have to say nothing has been better for my dog. Rufus flourishes this way. He is a fat'n'happy little hibiscus right now, I tell you whut. I could sit and look at that dog for the entirety of his existence and it would never get old. He is a hobby, like birding. My hobby. Well-tended. In general, in life, I recommend dogs - ease your anxiety with dogs.
So, assume the best. When we find ourselves immersed in a brain cloud, trust that it will pass and things will even out eventually. Don't worry, be happy, and hang in there!
BACK TO BROWSE.