Let’s write for the trash can and see how it goes.

(I really didn’t think I was gonna publish this piece of sh**!)

I love writing very much. Ever since I can remember, I’d been writing. As a little girl, I wrote stories about the life I secretly wanted to live (so basically stories about girls who own horses). As a teenager, I wrote a lot of essays to express my feelings. And as a young adult, I stopped writing.

I wanted to become a journalist when I was very, very young.

Now I don’t know what to write. Writing for the trash can is actually more difficult than it seems. I never considered myself a perfectionist, but there must be one hidden deep inside me. I’m unwilling to produce garbage. As I’m writing this, I feel completely stuck. There’s this thought in my head that I have to write something coherent, something that makes sense. It’s like a rule burned into my mind: Your writing must make sense. It must serve a purpose.

But what if writing could just be? What if I could just push my fingers into the keyboard and see which words come out? What if those words weren’t supposed to make any sense? What if I could keep on writing down stupid questions like this? What if I didn’t care about the reader? What if I wrote for me – just for me?

Right now, I’m really just hammering out some words and I feel liberated. I want to continue doing this. I feel like I don’t have to think. In a world with so many possibilities, so many decisions, so much information, it’s really hard to not think. Which is why I love dancing. Well yes, I have to think about my steps and about turning out and crossing my feet, and about not moving my arms and about smiling and about not kicking myself and about keeping the rhythm.

That sounds like a hell of a lot to hink about, but really, it isn’t. Or it’s a different kind of thinking. Maybe the very fact that there’s so much to think about makes me feel so entirely thought-free. And that’s the feeling I get right now. Right now that I’m trying to write for the trash can. Trying to write something, anything, without worrying about it being sense or nonsense.

I want to keep on doing this because this feeling of liberation is wonderful. I tried many ways to improve my writing in the past: I tried writing every day (in the morning, which was probably why I failed). I tried writing a blog post every day. I tried NaNoWriMo (writing 50'000 words in a month). I tried everything and nothing seemed to work. I wasn’t able to build momentum. I didn’t find flow. I was just messing around with my keyboard, producing mediocre posts that no one wanted to read.

Also, I burned out without realising it. And I stopped writing. I got so frustrated with the countless pieces of shit I produced. I realised that I was writing simply because I made myself do it. I don’t want to bring myself to write. I want to want to write and I want to hardly be able to stop myself. And that kicked in right now! In this very moment, I enjoy writing for the sake of it. In fact, I was looking forward to it all day long.

I sat down today with the resolution to write anything, no matter the sense it makes or doesn’t make. I wanted to just write and not worry about the outcome. Suddenly, and probably for the first time in my writing life, I feel no pressure at all. I just sit here and write. And I could go on like this for hours. I guess that’s what momentum feels like.

When I write a post and realise it’s not as good as I wanted it to be, I get frustrated. I feel disappointed in myself. In fact, I feel like a failure. But now, I’ve written some 800 words of whatever came to my mind and I think that some parts of it might actually be pretty good. And most importantly, I don’t feel like a failure. I have anticipated nothing at all, but I still created something.

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