In recent months, I have become a writer that isn’t writing. Sure, there’s some writing involved in what I do in my work, but it has been minimal compared to the time I have spent writing for many, many years. And it’s unsettling.
I looked at my personal blog today and couldn’t believe it had been since late February that I last posted. It seems like yesterday, which is indicative of why perhaps I haven’t contributed anything new. It’s been a very busy year thus far, and although I don’t see it slowing down all that much, I am newly committing myself to getting some words down on the screen once again—and on a regular basis.
When I don’t write, I feel it. There are words swirling about, left unsaid, yet not unfelt. I want to capture them, examine them, and figure out just what I’m thinking and where my thoughts might lead me. I hand wrote a blog post, on a plane, recently with the idea that I would type it up and post it just as soon as I settled in my hotel room. Just before bed that night, I realized I hadn’t yet and vowed to do it just before breakfast—or perhaps on the plane ride home, or as soon as I got home. It’s nearly a month later and I’ve yet to type it up. But I will. Tomorrow. For sure. And from there, I’ve got to get back in gear, because it’s what I love to do and it’s what I miss so much.
Life should never be so busy that I’m not doing something I love.