Hasta la vista, maybe?
In my attempt to become a marathon of a writer someday, I embraced several changes this year. Starting January, I transported my blog from Blogger to Medium. It was a grand move for me. I started writing there almost a decade ago and was quite attached to the platform. I am not disappointed as such with Medium given how little of an expectation I’ve had with it. Conversely, I’ve only found discipline (in myself) here. Earlier, I used to often write one long paragraph in the name of blogging. Very rarely did I manage to cross the 350-words limit. I used to think, “Why dance around the subject with two left legs?” Interestingly, that’s exactly what I intended to do with my words: marry my short attention span with those who have an attention shorter than mine. Now, if you notice, more wordy pieces are churning out on their own. A major improvement, if you ask me. A good writer is someone who writes exactly like he breathes: effortlessly. And that’s the place I’d like to see myself in.
Without honesty, literature is like an abandoned town. One’s desire to express oneself fearlessly via pages is what keeps the fire of truth burning. All of us have our stories. Just that some of us learn to tell theirs in an appealing style. Is this skill unlearnable? Doubtful. Would your stories degrade if you don’t learn the art form? Nope.
My pursuit of pushing myself to 2 to 4 blog posts per week had remained strong throughout the year. Until this week. This time around, I couldn’t post even one. I thought of several topics — from how we try way too hard to be cool to why science doesn’t have all the answers — but couldn’t bring myself to even draft any of the meandering thoughts.
Sucks.
Regardless, change is undeniably in the air. One can’t and shouldn’t stick to their mould. The comfort of being stuck in a stupor is a mirror to your cowardice, not joy. We seek pleasure from certainty. Uncertainty leads to insecurity and insecurity leads you to a town where you are the last person to leave and yet you don’t. Why? Because you are scared. Hence, to remain safe and sound, we cling to our set character. But then, again, for how long?
Speaking of changes, fast forward to mid-November, I’ve adopted many visible transformations. I see myself using I in upper case instead of my signature lower case. I’ve realized that it’s pointless to stand out when you don’t have much to offer. The most significant part of prose — or poetry, for that matter — is to write from your core. Gimmicks are good because they unwittingly become your trademark but I think there are far more reaching chasms to fill inside one’s head.
Pessimism helps, no doubt. I am a pessimist by nature and I like to believe I’m not answerable to anybody. Moreover, hope doesn’t work for me. I’d rather imagine the worst and work backwards. To give you a fervent example, I learnt yesterday that I am diabetic. My numbers are off the chart for a 31-year-one person who doesn’t drink or smoke. The whole episode is a benign shock in some sense, given how my dad is a diabetic and both my grandfathers died of the same disease. Yet, it’s a welcome wake-up call if one considers the fact that diabetes is more than a disease. It’s a lifestyle.
Change, like shit, happens when it has to.
Perhaps weathering self-imposed inertia isn’t the equivalent of standing up to bullshit. Maybe it’s high time I got back in shape, both mentally and physically, and in the process, find my true desire to write.
Having something to say to someone is quite different from having something to say without worrying about who reads it. Once you learn this difference, there’s not much left to write.
