I’ve fallen into a little trap. In trying to fill this blog every day, I have landed into a situation where I have a lot to say. Not a bad problem to have, right? Under normal circumstances, or at least the circumstances that come to mind, this is a fantastic “problem” to have. Unfortunately, I have a lot to say, but most of it is of little substance. Empty words. Nothing of consequence.
In most cases, I would just push through it. There is a point of writing in the journey towards uncovering an idea. A thought. A hypothesis. Writing is an experiment of thought. Or at least I would like it to be.
Resting comfortably in my notebook are a number of unfinished essays. All of them in some way or another deal with the conditions of life. Nutrition, political discourse, relationships, life, being a man… All share some room in the pages of the book while I try to sort out my ideas in some constructive manner. I have a lot to say.
I just can’t seem to wrap my mind about how to say it.
It’s about voice, right? And uncovering the idea. No matter what, the act of writing is the exercise of my trying to take my thoughts and to sort them out.
My lull has a little to do with the anxieties that I’ve struggled with. They also have something to do with the fact that the subjects I’ve chosen to write about have been too volatile. I have been struggling to clear out my thinking. If I can get through a few of them, to at least tidy up the room that is my mind a little, I might be able to work out these ideas. Then having so much to say might actually be the good thing it should be.