War and Peace
I think what confounds my antipathy for writing is that I don’t want to refer to myself as a writer.
Writing…
…it’s not a pleasant experience to sit down and produce a body of work. In the past, I have tried to share my sentiments of what I feel when I write, but others view it as overly dramatic which dissuaded me from being vulnerable.
I think what confounds my antipathy for writing is that I don’t want to refer to myself as a writer. There is a lingering insecurity or indignation, primarily because I feel like an imposter. In fact, I would take it as far as to say that it feels like fraud. I am not sure why I get into this state of cognitive dissonance.
Maybe my woes are normal?
As I think about it, writing is a combination of self-deception and confidence to mute neuroticism. Yet, paradoxically one needs to be neurotic to criticize and self-reflect on what was written.
Both sides cannot be equally happy at once, there has to be an established fairness, almost as if a concession is made. I often find such concessions occur when an individual has a deadline to submit work; either the confident side wins because they finished early, or the other side just needs to survive and become calumnious towards themselves.
Even for today’s post, I had to concede to my deadline and survive, even though I hate the post with every fibre of my core.
Perhaps writing is really about the art of trade-offs and attempting balance but admitting that one can never fully attain it.
Word count: 249
Twitter: @bhavprajapati
