Writers Block

It's been 5 months since I've been able to write anything. 

I keep starting—again and again—without reaching an end. No completion, only beginnings. No one truly wants things to end, but here I am, pleading with the skies to finish something. Anything, really.

I hate writer’s block. There’s something inside, desperate to surface, but it never reaches the light—it's maddening. Like wandering through an endless tunnel with no sense of direction.

I walk aimlessly through the roads of my mind, searching for direction. Lately, it’s been a scramble—an untangling of thoughts and ideas that refuse to align, never converging toward the same goal.

I've been trying to read books and thoroughly understand them as well. So far it's been a jumble of words, once again. This time they're not mine though. 

Lately, it feels as if every word, from every language, has become foreign to me. The thoughts that once defined my life now feel distant, as if they exist in a bubble just beyond my reach. Even this—right now. I recognize the words, but the sentences don’t seem to fit. They don’t align. They don’t belong.

I received a post card from a colleague a few days ago. From New Zealand! I've never been to the bottom of the world before. He said that it was spring time over there and that they were prepping to "spring into summer". How vast the world is, yet how few words we have to capture all that we see and feel. That’s how I’ve felt lately.

I often think about the complexities of our overall existence. Humanity as a whole is so simple yet so complex. How endless is life yet how mediocre is everything that we worry about. Not being able to write coherent sentences feels trivial when compared to a universe that gives us the sun and the moon simultaneously, but never in the same place.

I like to think that when I face writer’s block, it’s because there’s not much to worry about. I find myself circling the same thoughts—things I can’t change, whether directly or indirectly.

I don’t need words to describe what I feel, because there’s not much to feel. But what does that say about me? Is not having much to think or feel a sign of something worse? I fear emotional numbness like an addict fears sobriety. Emotion—whether joy or anger—is a sign of passion, and passion makes life beautiful. Some may say it brings more heartache than joy, but I disagree.

To an extent I agree that feeling everything so deeply can easily be seen with negative eyes. However, the tender eyes of a full heart have more value in my opinion. I like to believe my life will be filled with passion, overflowing with words that capture endless art in all its forms.The words of all the books that paint life from a different point of view. The sceneries that drape every inch of the world we all share yet we all have a different perspective of. 

It’s beautiful to know that the same world, the same books, music, plays, and earth can inspire so many different perspectives, day in and day out.

I hate having writers block. There’s nothing worse than losing the passion for life and art—than feeling disconnected from the earth’s desires and society’s impact. Worse still, is not being able to share my point of view with others—or even with myself.