The month that ate all my words and the funny thing about passion

tumblr_mfvs67nrh91qhswtfo1_500_largeYou know when you’re getting sick. A sniffle there, a small cough there, and before you know it, you’re sitting on the couch with a heating pad and some chicken noodle soup binge watching America’s Next Top Model (Or is that just me?). Our bodies have a way of letting us know when something is wrong. Mine does too.

It’s called not writing.

I haven’t written very much of anything this month. No blog posts. No journal entries. Nothing. And for a girl who always seems to have an abundance of words to write, it was odd and off-putting. I’ve been searching  for the reasons why because there has to be some reason, right?

I thought about previous times when I didn’t write. There was this time when I was dating this guy who was awful for me. I knew he was, but I didn’t want to admit it. I knew if I cracked open my journal and had to face the blank page, the truth I didn’t want to face would come out. I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time lying when I write. I can pop little white lies out of my mouth (Oh my God, I love your skirt! Where did you get it?), but writing is different. Maybe it’s a journalist thing. Writing is my truth telling serum.

And once, in graduate school, I stopped writing for months during a spring semester. I was overwhelmed by all the other writing I had to do, I really didn’t have time to write for just myself. When I look back on it, I wasn’t in a good place. Like most first year grad students, I was letting the stress get to me. I was spinning, flailing, and drowning. I was doing all I could just to stay afloat.

So, when the month of March goes by without me writing a single word, I search for answers. The guy is long gone, grad school has been done for quite some time, so what is it? Am I feeling okay? Stressed? Overwhelmed? What’s going on behind the surface?

Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.

Weird.

After a month of nitpicking and and trying to find things that were wrong with me, I came up with nothing. I’m okay. Even when I’m not writing, I’m okay.

Weirder.

I love to write. I’m so passionate about it, I thought I would always want to write. Like, all the time. Maybe not research papers, but blog posts and journal entries? Hell yeah. But, just like any emotion, passion ebbs and flows. Some days, it’s there burning hot and ready. Some days, it’s not. It’s hiding and doesn’t want to come out to play. And that’s okay.

Because even when you love something, you don’t always want to do that one thing all the time. And that doesn’t mean you’re burned out or stressed or weird. It means that you’re human. And things come and go, passion ebbs and flows as it pleases. It’s just one of those human-ly things I have to get used to. I’m not saying you shouldn’t follow your passion or whatever, but be okay when it stops for a break along the way. Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re just being human.

Ah, being a human is weird, isn’t it?

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2 thoughts on “The month that ate all my words and the funny thing about passion

  1. i’ve been through this before – with reading and writing. sometimes, other stuff just takes precedent. writing especially requires the ever lamented presence of a muse. it’s so true! if you try to write without it, everything just comes out wrong.

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