I keep putting off these last two posts. I think it’s worth exploring why.
There are the obvious factors. I don’t like change. I don’t like endings. I think I’ve probably had enough of each to last a lifetime, even if that is half as much as the average person. I told you about that awful therapist that always said every negative feeling, broken down, was really some form of fear. I really don’t like that guy, but I think there is at least something to that.
The bottom line is, for whatever reason, I’m not ready to stop writing. I thought I was, and I thought I would be. I’ve had moments where I’ve really mailed it in and written absolute garbage. I’ve also had moments where I’ve felt good about what I’ve written, not because I think anyone reads it, but because I felt like I made a discovery or identified some new feeling or realization, or managed to put some feeling into words and surprised myself.
Maybe I’ll feel ready when I celebrate my birthday. Maybe I’ll feel ready next year. Maybe I’ll feel ready in September. Maybe I’ll flake out and stop writing tomorrow. This is one area of my life where I can be flexible, or rather one area of my life where the world can be flexible to me. There is something nice about that.