Eight years since that very first entry (a phenomenal one, to say the least) on this blog, and numerous hiatuses later, I questioned, for the first time, what a blog really is. In a sea of flawless Instagram pictures, viral Facebook posts, and ever-so-popular Snapchat filters, where does a blog post fall? When showered with so many options to share everything instantly, and garner what seems to be pretty adequate attention most of the time, I wonder if I’m still capable of writing a good, meaningful, and well-crafted blog post. One that perhaps few will read, and one that isn’t any more interesting than a monologue.
When I set the non-ambitious goal of posting one blog entry every month at the beginning of the year, I didn’t think it would be that hard to achieve. But who am I kidding? So far I’ve blogged once in 2017, planned on writing something about my new year’s resolutions, but the topic is obviously no longer relevant.
Over the years I’ve perhaps become a more versatile writer; I can write faster, in various styles, and adapt easily to whatever that is required. But as far as creative writing goes, there has been few and far between.
It’s funny how different I feel every time I open a new screen and start writing. Most of the time I’d shoot for that “perfect” blog post, resulting in serious writer’s block where I would scratch my head searching for words. Other times I would be more inspired, letting the emotions and imaginations run their course.
But lately, as evidenced by how sparsely I’ve been posting, there has been a lot of resistance to writing. And this resistance is often in perfect proportion to how cluttered my mind is. The more I struggle to find peace, the more fearful I become, and the less willing I am to open up.
When I finally logged into this account today, after not remembering my password the first few times, I felt a long-lost sense of pleasure. A sense of familiarity and belonging that reminded me just how sacred this space is, and how much I love to write.
For that, I will keep writing.