I don’t want to write anymore. That was the thought that crossed my mind and woke me out of my sleep Saturday morning sometime around 2:00 a.m. I hadn’t felt creative and productive for the past several weeks even though I written in my journal for 42 consecutive days since 14 June. Journaling my thoughts alleviated some of the tension and the stress I was placing on myself, but it also became a distraction for me to really do something that would progress me with my creative aspirations. The stress and challenges of my professional career as a mental health counselor along with not engaging in self-care strategies (e.g., exercise, reading, cooking) I should’ve been doing so were taking their toll on my well-being. The pressure I placed upon myself to accomplish my goals were also contributing to my stress. The financial struggles I experienced for the past several months to obtain additional income were affecting me, too. I felt overwhelmed by all the ideas I desire to accomplish with my creative, and when this occurs, I don’t feel productive and will waste my time procrastinating watching television until the electronic device starts watching me. I started to question whether or not I was becoming depressed again. Maybe, maybe not, but I’ve been down this road too many times, and I’m tired of this journey.
The last thing I want to do is to quit writing. The thought of never wanting to write another idea, word, thought, sentence, paragraph, etc., would make me miserable. That would be a slow death for me. I knew what had to be done and activated my laptop, logged onto Microsoft Word, and started typing away on the keyboard. I wrote for almost 90 minutes this morning before the sunrise. It felt awesome to focus my efforts towards journaling any thoughts and ideas that came to my mind, uninterrupted by the quiet inside my living room, free from the distractions of television, music, and social networking. My flow was effortless and this morning’s journaling session may have been the most honest one I’ve completed to date. The negative thoughts dissipated the more I engaged into my creative task. I didn’t give a damn about being grammatically correct as I put my internal editor on hold writing my shitty journal entry, borrowing from Anne Lamott’s shitty first draft expression to describe my first attempt at a piece of work. 90 minutes, 3 pages, and 1,725 words later, I felt better, rejuvenated, and empowered to continue writing. This journaling session was the foot in my ass to kick start my motivation.
I have to continue writing. Temporary challenges do not and will not define my future. They should and will never interfere in my creative process, and that’s a promise I intent to keep to myself. I continue to write because it gives me strength and courage to express my voice even if no one is listening. All that matters is that I’m listening. I don’t want to or will not surrender my life to mediocrity and complacency if I abandon my gift and settle for an existence inside an unpleasant and unfulfilling comfort zone. I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night barely able to sleep thinking negative thoughts about no longer doing something that brings me joy. That’s why I continue to write. Insecurities about my age may appear inside my mind because I’m no longer in my early to mid-twenties. I’m not dead yet; I’m still alive, breathing, and kicking. Age is just a number and it’s not too late for anyone to start something new or rediscover something they were once passionate about doing, but time doesn’t last forever. That’s why I continue to write. If I never wrote another piece of literature again for publication, I’d still write for my personal fulfillment. I’ve been blessed that some of my published works have made a positive impact in the lives of others who’ve read and listened to my words. I created some beautiful relationships with individuals who came into my life, supported my endeavors, and became my family. They’re listening, waiting, and anticipating something new. I’ve this feeling inside my gut that tells me there’s something special inside my soul waiting to be accomplished. The only way to discover it this true or not is to do what I was born to do and press forward with my creative endeavors despite the temporary challenges, fears, and insecurities. That’s why I continue to write.