If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been gone for a couple of weeks. Yours truly finally got out of the neighborhood and went on a vacation. It was a blast, just K and I in a car, driving across several states, and doing all that touristy stuff. But now I’m back to the real world and that means work.
But doesn’t feel the same.
A lot of things happened while I was gone. Or at least it felt that way. And things are still going on. People are getting promoted and moving around. One person even left on short notice while I was gone. It feels all different.
Then there is my writing. It isn’t. As in it isn’t happening. I’m in a lull, a funk, or whatever and I cannot seem to shake it. The little bit that I am writing feels disjointed and boring, if not just straight up bad. And I wrote some truly terrible stuff over the past few weeks. Bad enough that I was ashamed to even show it to my wife. She sees all my stuff (or most of it at least) before anyone else. I just couldn’t do it. Instead, it got shelved and I got even more upset.
It’s more than a little frustrating. I have this dichotomy in my life. If I feel that work is doing great, my writing suffers. But if work is suffering, then the writing soars. When one is good, then the other has problems. This pattern has been going on for years. I don’t know why, but it works for me.
Until now that is.
I am frustrated in most aspects of my life. I don’t know why or how, or even how to break my funk up, but there it stands. Sometimes—and I know we all feel this way at times—I feel like the world is passing me by. Like I can do so much more, but I can’t get the chance to prove it.
I know, I know. I should make opportunities rather than wait for them to appear. But that goes against my personality. Causing waves? You got to be joking. Instead, I’d rather put my head down and work even harder, hoping that someone notices my dedication and decides to reward it. Too bad life doesn’t work that way.
There’s more to say but it’s more self-pitying nonsense. Do I have some recourse? Yes. There are people I can talk to and things I can do. I’m not totally hopeless. It just feels that way. Really, I know what I need to do.
Put my underwear over my pants and take up the life of a superhero. Ok, not really. But I do have to put on my big boy pants and grow up. I need to move forward. Not move on. Those are two different things. But today, I’ll take putting one foot in front of the other.
Perhaps I’ll take my newfound optimism and try to write something story-like.