Try as I might, my relationship with blogging has certainly lost its verve for the past several months. I vow I will do better, I get a shot in the arm, I go read everyone and feel enhanced and better for the experience, and then I let the writing and reading thing lapse for another week or two.
I suppose this is natural. Life gets in the way. I don’t know if that’s exactly what’s happening- or if I’m just distracting myself from tasks with other things, or what. I do know, when I read those things I managed to write in the last few weeks, I think, “My holy hell I’ve gotten boring on here.”
I have. Life itself hasn’t been particularly down or depressing, but it seems the times I feel the urge to write on here often coincide with moments of depression. I guess that makes sense in a way: If you’re feeling all happy and twitterpated, or soaring, or the moon looks really cool or something, you probably aren’t going to take a lot of time to write about it.
At least I don’t. I insist though, things are good here. No,- it’s not just that. Things are sort of balanced around here. And with balance, my well established patterns of writing are kind of thrown off course. Cus this whole blog writing thing was born out of a sort of desperately unhappy time, and then it became a wonderful tool both to connect and work through things I really felt the need to work through. And now I don’t feel like I’m careening through highs and lows, I feel… pretty happy a lot, content a lot, and mildly depressed sometimes. I’ve hit the middle values.
That isn’t a bad thing. But it might mean a different approach. I begin to understand the call for organization, structure, stuff I chafe against. Why should I have a routine? Why should I do stuff when I’m not feeling it? I’ve written so wonderfully in fits of passion, anger, sadness, lust. Why?
Well, cus I need this place.
Still. And in a weird way, all the parts of blogging create one big entity, that sort of feels, over the last several months, like a neglected friend. It’s really great, Alissa, that you’re feeling more whole and desiring the outlets that have sustained you less, but don’t forget what got you there. There’s been times I felt there was nothing of me except the ability to put one word and then another down. Times the only reason to keep coping and trying with the ugly, frustrating outer life, was cus there was that lit up part that could build worlds within. Worlds to escape to; worlds to bridge out with. Worlds to invite and explore other people and feel safe.
Now those worlds need me, in a way. If that part is to keep going, it kinda needs to be sustained in the context of everything else. Hafta make a spot for it. And it is still important to me- this place. Writing. Having that ability alive inside- it sort of reminds me of something I read of Pueblo Native American culture. They passed on the ability to build houses out of the earth, houses they could leave behind because the material wasn’t the point; the point was having the knowledge which they carried in their very hands.
No matter where I go, no matter what happens, I carry this. I can have nothing and still build a world, a thought, an idea- still meet people in that space behind the eyes, in that circular protective membrane around the heart. I can be lost but I always have a home, if I have this: If I can write.
So I need it. I’m just figuring out how to make the pieces fit right now.
Thank you for your continued presence in this space.