In my desperation to end my current writing drought, I turned to one of my most trusted and brilliant friends for topic suggestions. She, in all her wisdom, opted to aim directly for the money shot: “How about a piece on ‘Why I’m Not Writing’?”
Ahhhh, that. The one topic, apart from ‘I Apply For 12 Jobs a Day and Am Still Unemployed,’ that I could relate to wholly.
But that suggestion was scary because, wait, why aren’t I writing? Some reflection revealed that my reasons are typical ones; often, I simply succumb to inner protestations of inadequacy, convinced that I couldn’t possibly create anything worthwhile, so I won’t try. It’s a very definitive, “No. Shan’t.” situation reminiscent of Emily Blunt. Other times it’s because, dear God it seems as though Tory Burch’s ex-husband is totally ripping off — and underselling! — her line and I just couldn’t possibly move forward with my day before I read this article about it. (Spoiler alert: Everything is made in China.) The internet is distracting, ya know?
In bouts of overdramatic angst, WHICH ARE TOTALLY NOT CHARACTERISTIC OF ME IN ANY WAY, my reaction to this lack of inspiration has me convinced that the muses have abandoned me forever and I’llneverbesuccessfulatanythingeverohmygod. This, if I’m understanding correctly, is *the* official motto of the chronically underemployed, perpetually confused, mid-twenties urbanite of Our Time, a demographic to which I very much belong. It’s highly possible that I’m even the President of said group. !Accomplishments!
Behold us, in all our glory:
So what, then, are we to do when that which once was so blessedly natural and accessible suddenly and inexplicably evades us? I suppose some perspective is helpful — perhaps two wordless months aren’t indicative of my entire future. A bit of patience and acceptance likely doesn’t hurt either. It’s bound to turn around, right?
In the meantime, I’m taking solace in the knowledge that Nate is just as confused by the following concept as I am.