“Words are, of course, the most powerful
drug used by mankind.”
– Rudyard Kipling
I’ve been
struck by the longest streak of writer’s block and I’ve been suspended in a
perpetual state of limbo ever since the block gripped me. I’m floating,
watching everyone shine and sparkle from the shadows. Meanwhile, my penmanship
remains dusty and littered with cobwebs. Sometimes, it feels like being on an
isolated island with an unobstructed view of the world, observing everything
from outside, window shopping, at a standstill while time passes you by. But
time waits for no one.
And so, here
I sit, at a table at a café trying to get my grove back like Stella. Writing
came easy to me and even when it didn’t, I could churn out a poem with ease. I
want that back. I’m not exactly sure what happened or where my mojo jet set off
to, but it needs to come back. Writing is a release of frustrations and stress.
It grounds me. It’s my center, but 2016 had other plans and I found myself
feeling like I was repeatedly hitting a brick wall. I was a hamster in a wheel,
turning circles and never quite ending up where I wanted to be, and I sank
through quicksand of disappointment.
I’ve never
been one to toot my own horn. I always feel weird, like a clown dressed in the
royal clothes, but out of place. I’m a really good supporter and a hell of a
hype man and an excellent cheerleader for others. Need to develop an idea? I
got you. Need some encouragement? I have words on deck. Need someone to hold
you accountable? I’m your girl. For some reason, I struggle to play those roles
for myself and others are even further from being those things for me. I like
to help others succeed and I enjoy being an encouraging force. Sometimes I
wonder if I’ve been drowned out in the process. Maybe everyone else thinks I
have it all figured out, but I don’t.
All my
thoughts and ideas seemed like a pile of steaming trash. The well of my
creativity dried up and my drive crashed. Suddenly, there was nothing for
months. I made a promise to myself to write at least once a month and I didn’t
keep up my end of the deal. It wasn’t for lack of trying. I have drafts upon
drafts of writings that never made it to the light of day. But I’m here and I’m
writing and this is good for my soul. Because as I try to navigate through life
and maneuver through relationships and countless encounters with other humans,
writing provides a sense of awareness and I feel like that’s what I’ve been missing
the most. Clarity.
Life has a way of testing a person’s
will, either by having nothing happen at all or by having everything happen at
once. – Paulo Coelho
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