At blogging, that is.
Well, actually, I can count off a few other things I’m not particularly the best at. But for someone who claims to “live through writing” and a bunch of other lofty language, I’m failing with flying colors at doing the very thing that gives my life meaning.
See? That sentence didn’t even make sense.
Basically, I lack discipline. And consistency. And follow-through. But not ideas! I have plenty of those, demonstrated by the staggering number of posts that are labeled ‘draft’. The drafts section of my site is a wall on which I’ve scribbled some “genius” in crayon, but I can’t read the “genius” because I’ve written “other genius” over it many times in a variety of colors until it just looks like vomit.
And who wants to look at vomit.
So I ignore it. It’s there, in the periphery of my vision, an eye sore that I swear I’ll get to (“and it’s good that it hurts because that will force me to deal with it”) but in reality never do because it’s too ugly and shameful and I just want a sandwich. I convince myself that tomorrow I’ll be stronger, more inspired, more active – no, more PROactive! – and I’ll claw myself out of the hole of underachievement that I’ve dug and decorated and made my home. And then I nestle into an over-sized beanbag in the corner of my crevice of procrastination and take a nap.
Because I’m just a mess without my beauty rest.
The pain hits a crescendo when I occasionally get a message, tweet, or comment from some sweet soul, meant as a compliment but my guilt-ridden brain reads as denunciation. So I sink deeper into the beanbag and grumble in self flagellation: you don’t deserve to have readers; you call yourself a writer? You can’t even get yourself to write a pamphlet’s worth; no wonder your blog name is so lame; you’re the worst.
And I am.
But what if I’m not? I mean, what if I’m no longer the worst? What if I can make myself better? What if I can change?
So almost two full months into 2015, I’ve finally made my resolution. I want to get my life together. I want to practice what I preach. I want to accomplish something with this space that I created to exercise my creativity. I want to exercise my creativity. I want to prove to myself that I’m not a hack, and one post a week from now on is the way to do that. You want to be a writer? Start acting like one.
And I want to.
I want to write.
I want to live.
This post is dedicated to Salim Muhammad, a stranger who was kind enough to tweet me today and remind me that what I write matters – to someone, and more importantly, to myself. Thank you for inspiring this post, and unwittingly lighting a proverbial fire under my ass. 🙂