It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog post. A really long time. I haven’t even written in my journal in quite a while, either. I didn’t realize that my last post–“Why I Don’t Write”–would be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Once I realized how long it’d been since I had written–anything!–I started thinking about why I hadn’t been writing. And I realized I’d been too busy living.
Now, that can be a good thing. If I’m too busy enjoying each moment, living in the present so enthusiastically that I just can’t take time away from the sights and sounds, the laughter and toddler hugs, the sunsets and evening stars, then that’s okay. That’s living life to the fullest AND storing up future writing material.
However, if being too busy living means that the treadmill of my life is cranked up too high, if I’m running at a sprint just trying to get it all done, with no time to breathe, rest, or write, then that’s a bad thing. A really bad thing.
Looking back, I discovered that I’ve been doing both. And personally, I count it as progress that I realized and adjusted, rather than judged and scolded myself. So here’s to progress.
But I have to admit, there’s another reason I haven’t been writing much. The world has just been too full of voices lately. Voices that know it all. Voices that hold positions with no room for anyone else’s experiences or opinions. Voices of anger. Voices of righteous indignation. Voices of dead-on certainty.
Mostly, all those voices just make me want to be quiet. To add only peace to an already over-loud world.
So here’s to a new year of being kind to ourselves and each other. Of being peace instead of one more strident voice. Of waiting to write (or speak) until we have some wisdom or beauty to share, some joy to bring. I like this idea. May it be a self-fulfilling prophecy.