Every single day for the past week or so I’ve been clicking the “New Post” tab and, after typing a couple of sentences, I’d close the window and read a book or listen to some music instead. I’m actually tempted to do just that right now, but I promised myself I’d post something, anything for the sake of feeling like I’ve accomplished something today.
I haven’t been writing anything these days and it’s not because I don’t want to or because I’m too lazy to. I don’t know, it’s like I’ve lost the words somewhere and I can’t find them. It’s an odd feeling. I’ve always thought of myself as someone who will never run out of words – not ones from the mouth because I don’t talk that much, but the ones from the heart. Now, I find myself in an unusual predicament and, frankly, I’m not sure what to do.
Don’t get me wrong, there has been no troubling experiences or bouts of depression. I just don’t have the words to say. I don’t feel sad. I feel awfully ordinary.
I guess we all have that, right?
If we’re not the type of people who work so hard to be the best and have the best in the world, we’re the type who strive to be the best in Life with a capital L. Either we’re too caught up in the glitters of the world or we’re too busy trying to find the deeper meaning of life. It’s always been either of two extremes, I think.
Anything in between is nothing, which is where I am currently in.
But what I’ve realized is that it’s kinda nice being here when you don’t intend on staying here forever. You get to see things you wouldn’t normally see when you’re hanging out on the far end of the spectrum. For example, if I never lost the words, I’d be too busy saying them in my head whenever I’m not writing or typing them all down and I’d be too much of a “deep and profound” person to turn on the television (which I rarely did in the past) and discover the goldmine of TV shows that is Duck Dynasty.
What I also realize now (really, just now) is that constantly doing what we love or doing what we’re good at (or what we think we’re good at) can sometimes monopolize the love that’s supposed to be for ourselves. I love writing more than anything else and when I found myself stalling a couple of days ago, I’m not going to say I hated myself because that’s not the truth but I definitely wasn’t loving myself either. A lot of times our love depends on trivial things such as our appearances, our belongings and our salaries, or on more philosophical ones like our accomplishments, our talents and our actions. Rarely do we love ourselves for just being us – stripped down, just our mind, heart and soul.
So yeah, I think I figured it out. The nothing in between isn’t really nothing after all. It’s a whole lot of somethings just waiting to be discovered.
And look, I think I found my words.