Shitty writing: a new leaf

I haven’t written here in a while.

I’d like to say I haven’t had the time. Or that I’m so committed to living in the moment that I’ve eschewed any kind of downtime for self-reflection, or, some would argue, inflated self-importance. But that’s not true. I actually have plenty of narcissism to share!

I haven’t written anything in a while because I’m finding it difficult to focus my energy on any one topic when, frankly, I’m angry about so many things. I’m angry about ingrained racism and the inability of white Americans to acknowledge their privilege. I’m angry that seemingly any enraged, unbalanced individual can easily acquire a gun and murder whomever he likes. I’m angry about men (and women) who don’t support a woman’s right to choose what she does with her own body. I’m angry at a world that doesn’t value children or childhood and refuses to take the necessary steps to protect and gently guide our young people. I’m angry about politicians who find it easier to blame “lazy teachers” than admit that our entire educational system is set up to fail. I’m angry about economic inequality and an ever-increasing financial and cultural gap. I’m angry at close-minded, anti-intellectuals who wrap themselves up in their scripture and shit all over anyone who is different. I’m just so fucking angry.

This broad anger, combined with my eternal fear that I have nothing new to add to these conversations, has left me in a sort of writing paralysis.  Why even waste my already limited free time? Who the hell cares what I have to say when everyone in the world is shouting and so many of those voices are more poignant than my own?

As I sat down to write this whiny post, I decided that I care. Writing, even shitty writing, does my heart and soul good. Even if no one reads it, I know it’s out there.  I’ve organized my thoughts, put words together, narrated my own truth, and that feels damn good.

Sometimes I write things only to read them later and think, “How nauseatingly earnest is this crap?” Because what seems obvious to me now was fresh and new to that earlier version of myself. I’ve only become who I am because I let my mind wander around new ideas. I’m still doing that. I don’t think it’s self-indulgent if we’re working on becoming better people to share with our world.

So, I’m recommitting to putting words on paper. Or screen, or whatever. There will be words, some better than others. Because this life thing is a process and despite all of my cynicism, the universe is still a fascinating and curious place.

More SOON. I promise myself.