I used to have opinions and thoughts on things. Strong opinions and thoughts. I once wrote an entire essay on how much I hate blue-colored food just because I felt that strongly about it. (For the record, I still don’t eat Windex-blue food. It’s just not natural.) Lately, however, I consistently fail to get worked up over anything. Nothing really seems to bother me anymore. (Unless, of course, we’re talking about my dogs, which are truly the bane of my existence these days. If they poop or pee on the floor one more time, flames are literally going to shoot from the sides of my face.) Now from a Zen perspective, this is remarkable progress. As a writer, this has not been serving me well. I cannot count the times that I have sat here, fingers hovering above the keyboard, trying to come up with something, anything, to say as my text cursor just blinks at me.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
That lady who was so incredibly rude to me at Walmart? Yep. She would have had a lovely tribute to her idiocy a few years ago. Today, I attribute her behavior to difficult circumstances and a lack of education, which really just makes me feel sorry for her and subsequently guilty about exploiting her pathos. Pity is a poor inciter of snarky, incisive writing.
I am also suspicious that my current happiness may be the culprit behind my writer’s block. This is not to say that writers cannot be happy and fulfilled people, but speaking solely for myself, I have a tendency to write in times of crisis and difficulty, not in times of contentment and ease. This is something that I would like to remedy because I rather enjoy being happy, and I would like to learn to write from this place, not just from the depths of my despair.
The best way to learn is by doing, so I guess that means that I should be writing even when I don’t feel inspired. Frankly, that’s how this post came to fruition. Yes, I’ll probably end up with a lot of lists, but you never know, maybe something magical will appear.