New Post
So there's this little button on the Blogger website that you click when you want to write stuff. It says new post. What a concept. And I clicked it. You bet I did.
Why don't I write more often? I'm a writer. A thinker. (An over-thinker, even.) And yet I still haven't felt like writing in a while. That is, until now.
I've been all of a sudden writing up a storm this week. Turns out that revisiting things that pissed you off or made you cry years ago can still work a little magic. And why am I surprised? All these things leave traces in us...in our minds and hearts... Is it any wonder that when we remember, we feel those things again? Those sentiments are reawakened in us, and we are reminded of something we loved...hated...lost...found... We are transported to that state of mind of our former selves.
For me, it's usually music that does it...whether it's a lyric, a song, an artist, or an album...hearing something you haven't heard in years can bring you right back. And BAM...that pit in your stomach might as well be the very one that was there years ago from whatever angst you were stressing about to begin with. For some reason, I've been recently drawn to music that I listened to - or wrote - quite some time ago, hence this post.
Maybe it's our subconscious way of staying connected to the past. We romanticize the drama that kept us thinking, writing, lying awake at night and pondering our existence. When you felt that pain, you felt alive, didn't you? Didn't it make you want to run screaming down the street? And didn't that elation do the same thing? Made you want to jump up onto a park bench and shout at the top of your lungs? As artists, we look back on those times and remember how vivid life was, in all its beauty and disappointment, and we remember with fondness those times of struggle because of what we were able to turn that struggle into. From chaos, somehow art. From indecision, somehow action. From pain, somehow beauty.
I hate to admit it, but there's not much that makes me feel that way anymore. That's not necessarily a bad thing...I mean, there's a comfort that comes with happiness, a stillness in routine, a familiarity with your surroundings that settles you as you get older, I think. That is what makes it hard to write...hard to react...hard to really feel things. That comfort and belief in everything you've worked so hard to surround yourself with. That's my definition of writer's block.
Am I saying I want all the uncertainty and craziness of my 20s back? No.
Nor am I looking to change anything that has happened in my life. These things are all part of what make me who I am, good or bad.
I am saying, however, that some of that angst still lingers somewhere in me, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't go looking for it sometimes for inspiration. I'd also be lying if I said I didn't want to reconnect and reconcile some of those issues. Only some of them.
The ones that still hurt when I look back on them...
The ones that make me feel like I did back then...
The ones that remind me of how vivid my world was, if only for a short time...
The ones that carry with them sorrow and sweetness all at once...
The ones that make me write...
Why don't I write more often? I'm a writer. A thinker. (An over-thinker, even.) And yet I still haven't felt like writing in a while. That is, until now.
I've been all of a sudden writing up a storm this week. Turns out that revisiting things that pissed you off or made you cry years ago can still work a little magic. And why am I surprised? All these things leave traces in us...in our minds and hearts... Is it any wonder that when we remember, we feel those things again? Those sentiments are reawakened in us, and we are reminded of something we loved...hated...lost...found... We are transported to that state of mind of our former selves.
For me, it's usually music that does it...whether it's a lyric, a song, an artist, or an album...hearing something you haven't heard in years can bring you right back. And BAM...that pit in your stomach might as well be the very one that was there years ago from whatever angst you were stressing about to begin with. For some reason, I've been recently drawn to music that I listened to - or wrote - quite some time ago, hence this post.
Maybe it's our subconscious way of staying connected to the past. We romanticize the drama that kept us thinking, writing, lying awake at night and pondering our existence. When you felt that pain, you felt alive, didn't you? Didn't it make you want to run screaming down the street? And didn't that elation do the same thing? Made you want to jump up onto a park bench and shout at the top of your lungs? As artists, we look back on those times and remember how vivid life was, in all its beauty and disappointment, and we remember with fondness those times of struggle because of what we were able to turn that struggle into. From chaos, somehow art. From indecision, somehow action. From pain, somehow beauty.
I hate to admit it, but there's not much that makes me feel that way anymore. That's not necessarily a bad thing...I mean, there's a comfort that comes with happiness, a stillness in routine, a familiarity with your surroundings that settles you as you get older, I think. That is what makes it hard to write...hard to react...hard to really feel things. That comfort and belief in everything you've worked so hard to surround yourself with. That's my definition of writer's block.
Am I saying I want all the uncertainty and craziness of my 20s back? No.
Nor am I looking to change anything that has happened in my life. These things are all part of what make me who I am, good or bad.
I am saying, however, that some of that angst still lingers somewhere in me, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't go looking for it sometimes for inspiration. I'd also be lying if I said I didn't want to reconnect and reconcile some of those issues. Only some of them.
The ones that still hurt when I look back on them...
The ones that make me feel like I did back then...
The ones that remind me of how vivid my world was, if only for a short time...
The ones that carry with them sorrow and sweetness all at once...
The ones that make me write...
posted by laura at
4:07 PM
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