Some Days You Can’t
You do what you’re supposed to: You sit at your desk. You think of your projects and plans. You decide what you’re going to work on and get to it.
Except that you can’t.
You can’t write or design or make or whatever it is that you came here to do. You don’t know why you can’t, you just know that you can’t.
You cross out, crumple, delete, eviscerate anything that manages to emerge. You scratch imaginary itches, pace, maybe throw something.
You stare at your social media feeds, in hopes of inspiration, connection, or at least expanding your network. Every motivational message falls flat. Every Tweet saps a little more of your energy, your drive, your go.
You can’t #RiseAndGrind.
You buckle under the cacophony of makers/movers/doers whose shit is more together than yours. The ones who hit a 2k word count before dawn, then read a whole book while running 6 miles, then made a three-course breakfast, plus (organically) gained 500 followers overnight.
You can’t focus.
You start to think maybe you’re no good at this. You start to wonder what the point of it all is. You think you will never catch up. It’s overwhelming, exhausting.
You can’t distract yourself.
You can’t do the dishes or make the bed. You can’t get out of your pajamas. You can’t make yourself lunch, so you eat a protein bar and a handful of stale chip crumbs from the bottom of 3-month-open bag.
You can’t believe that anything will work today.
You see the sun shining, hear birds chirping, but you can’t make yourself go for a walk, even though you love walks. You can’t give yourself 5 minutes on the meditation cushion because you don’t think you’re worth the time.
You can’t even with yourself today.
You‘re fed up with what you think is your insufficiency, insecurity, inadequacy. You’re angry, annoyed, ashamed.
You can’t understand, much less explain, this.
I’ve had plenty of days like this, where writer’s block spirals me into a temporary dank abyss. If you have, too, know that you’re not alone. If you’re a creative of any kind, remember that you are more than what you produce.
Some days you can’t. And that’s okay.
Other days, you will.
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