I think it’s right around the time that I started writing professionally that I stopped writing personally. And as I stand and look at the bleak landscape of what is the copywriting critiques of some other company’s blog and therefore, their words, I remember why I miss it.
There’s something so invigorating about writing something that no one can touch. These are my words. These are my thoughts. These are my opinions. And yes, that’s three sentences in a row that I started with the word ‘these’ and there’s nothing that your edit-crazy, get in line pen can do about it.
I feel so free! For years (has it been years?) I’ve been stuck in a content cycle that never ends. 140 characters of abide by my rules, trim this, cut that and finally, finally I’m opening a blank word document and writing an essay for myself.
Why aren’t you writing, Meg? Their words like echoes on a procrastination loop in my brain. I am writing, I insist! I am writing.
But not for me.
Over three years ago, I wrote my last blog. I need to live, I thought. I need to live and the words will come. But I’ve lived and I came so close to writing again- each time like standing next to a treadmill that was running beside me but never getting on. Each time thinking ok, I’m going to just jump on and go and seizing up in preparation and then realizing my shoe wasn’t tight enough to go through with it.
And the echo in my brain blares again. Why aren’t you writing?
And finally, I scream back… I am.