On Writing About Not Writing

I haven’t been writing anything lately. My brain is too full and too empty. I have nothing to write about and everything to write about. I’m caught between two thoughts – “I must write” and “How could I possibly write now?” I understand the feeling people have when they say they’re feeling unmoored. I am, as they say, adrift.

There has been so much change and so little time to reflect. And more change is coming, so perhaps it’s time for me to find time to think before I get dragged under by another riptide of upheaval in our lives.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s all good change – we have a baby on the way, we just moved into a new home, we’re vaccinated, our son is going back to daycare. All good things that I still have so many emotions about. That I also feel nothing about – well, not nothing. But more anxiety than I thought I would, so it feels like a big, dark cloud that is covering what should be a brightly shining sun, finally coming into view.

So that’s why I haven’t been writing, because it feels like pulling a thread on a sweater, and if I tug too hard, it will unravel and leave me naked. And after an unimaginable year – for everyone – I’m just not ready to get out of my cozy clothes.

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