What Happens When You’re a Writer, But You Don’t Write
It ain’t pretty
I haven’t published anything in almost two months
And that’s after I jumped into Medium with both feet and published almost every day for four months. I was ecstatic while writing with that degree of focus and commitment. Something was happening internally that was transformative. I was discovering myself and at the same time discovering my appreciation for humanity through the other writers here. I’d been discovering that I am a writer at heart, which I’ve kinda known my whole life, but embracing the discipline completely confirmed it. Everything was ringing true.
Then we had to move from the US to Canada. Moving began and writing stopped.
Yesterday I stood in front of an insurance agent who was explaining why I would have to make a fourth trip back to the agency because I was still missing paperwork that would allow me to insure my vehicle in Canada. I had to remind myself that it wasn’t her fault that I felt setting a match to her kiosk in the department store. It was tempting to imagine this efficient and brusque bureaucrat was the source of my betrayal when, in fact, I had abandoned myself by letting the details of moving overrun my attention.
