4 Nov

It’s always so strange how my thoughts and, consequently my fingers, freeze the moment I open a new post page in the hope to start writing. It was just the other day that we were talking about habits; the need to inculcate the habit to read, to write or take time off to do whatever it is that provides something deeper than happiness. Caught in between the need to write, and if publicly so, then to build an identity of who you are and what your writing is about, and the need to let go and just write, is such a task; a balance that is more hard to achieve than perceived. It really is easier said than done except in those cases where people can write effortlessly on a regular basis about anything under the sun, really.

Sometimes it just seems too easy when I read the few blogs I follow. The writers have so much going on in their lives, 50 times more than what my life feels like, if I may say so, and yet they write so regularly and effortlessly (or so it seems to be). Not that I wish to draw comparisons. But really, I find inspiration in their habit; their discipline. And it reinforces the fact that it all begins with something; that effort, that initiative, that drive and that discipline; all of which seem so temperamental in me.

It’s scary how fleeting my attention span has become. I’m not sure if it’s just me or if it’s this “phase” of age or if it’s a part of the normal developmental process or a generational thing represented by my generation that teeters ever so delicately between the conflicts of new-found technological “explorations” and maintaining traditions ensconced in very well defined nostalgia; where reading and writing and gardening, etc were enough to keep us going. Do you feel that conflict too?

I know that to write goes hand in hand with the need to deep-dive and look within, to reminisce, to contemplate and to think. Well, in my case, to over think. Because apparently the million thoughts I have the potential to wallow in, on a daily basis, don’t seem to be occupying enough. Either way, my mom thinks there’s more than meets the eye; that there’s something (gravely, if I may say so) wrong. Because how can someone who has been writing, stop writing? Yes, I did write a lot. I did read a lot. But to be honest, I think there’s growing up and life that happened in between. Not that the rest who read and write don’t have a life. It’s just that, like I said earlier, they seem to be more adept at taking it in their stride and making time for the things that make them feel complete. And to be even more honest, my journals back then were pretty much an account of my daily life and its occurrences, like any other teenager’s journal. So yes, life has happened and continues to happen and I haven’t really managed to catch on to the writing bandwagon with as much ease as I had imagined. Besides, to think and over think has proven to be a liability I wish not to be imprisoned by, as consciously as I can try my level best to.

Besides, life right now would mean two urgent phone calls that had to be attended followed by responses to ma who just got back home, all three of which happened in succession right when I began this piece. So tell me it’s easy to shut the world out and sit put. It’s not impossible. But tell me it’s easy because I need to try harder.

And while we’re at it, here’s how I’m spending some me time whenever technology or laziness doesn’t take over. It’s refreshing to say that, do that and experience that. It’s turning out to be quite an interesting and gripping read. Her detailing is overwhelming. Hoping to see this through, fingers crossed. :)




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