Why I (don't) write (more)
Reflecting on my own motivations and celebrating an anniversary
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Dearest reader,
thank you for being here! I appreciate you taking the time to read this little slice of writing as irregularly as I manage to sit down and put fingers to keyboard (plus, editing after).
In my third year of living with Long Covid and my set of chronic conditions, I am no stranger to losing parts of myself and to having gone through major life changes (read part 3 on “The Art of Losing” here). Nowadays, my days are filled with pacing, i.e. doing as little as possible, some chores, my cute cats, and whatever else my energy levels allow on any particular day (which is particularly challenging in the ever-hotter summers that we are currently experiencing the in the norther hemisphere.
My immediate answer to how else I want to spend my time is “writing”. For as long as I can remember, I have loved stories and reading and language, and at some point I discovered how much I enjoy playing with words and grammar myself.
Then how is it possible, I often wonder, that I don’t make more time to write???
Long Covid, of course, is one major reason. The cognitive dysfunction, including brain fog, is real, as are the moments when I struggle to string two sentences together. There are other, more pressing tasks, sure: Making sure my cats are well fed, their litter boxes are clean, I am well fed, and my surroundings remain clean-ish. Making doctor’s appointments, going to said appointments, getting medicine, groceries, and aids that help with the day-to-day.
And yet, I know I could carve out more time for my writing. Writing is always one of my top priorities, at least on paper and in theory. Then why do countless days go by where I find myself relieved to have made it through yet another hot one (counting down the days to fall, whenever that’s going to happen!), and still with not a written word before I start my getting-ready-for-bed routine?
Whose fault is it?
Can I blame my cat Luna? Partly, I guess. She has made it her mission to lie on my journal/notepad/keyboard when she is awake and in need of some petting, and I dare do anything else. Truth be told, I relish these moments (Jo is a lot more aloof and less demanding in the cuddle department) and try to “go with the flow” or however you want to label me attempting to not get too set on a specific way things have to be so as to finally, possibly, slightly reduce my life-long chronic stress. Hah.
Perhaps the expectations I have for my writing are still too high. I want the words to flow, the interesting ideas to come, the wit to be effortless. So much - unconscious - thinking happens way before I even sit (or lie) down to write, that by the time it could happen, I have somehow talked myself out of it.
Even today, as I opened a new draft to start writing, I was not sure what to write about until I started writing about writing, or the lack thereof. Both of my cats are napping now, though Luna regularly checks up on me. And I feel a well of words that want to surface and the more I write, the less I think.
A special anniversary
The idea of my fingers on my keyboard was also to create some space for a little celebration. The one year anniversary of the publication of my first (non-academic) book! The last post I shared contained a poem that is part of said book, also titled Write What Remains. While I am pretty sure I know almost every single person who has read it (i.e. not that many people), I am proud of it.
The act of writing it was painful; I was still in an unstable state of health, it was (surprise, surprise) another hot summer in the city, and I did not have a clear picture of what would emerge at the end of that process.
Looking back a year later, I now understand how essential it was to help me come to terms with my set of chronic conditions, to find more balance, to work through some devastating experiences. The magic of transforming thoughts, emotions, and experiences into something tangible like a book is remarkable. I was never an “open book”; it has always taken me a long time to build the trust to be vulnerable with people, yet I never hesitated to put my raw soul on the page and put it out into the world.
As of now, the book is only available through the book chain Thalia in either Austria or Germany.
Glimmers
Glimmer: a micro moment of joy, awe, hope, safety; opposite of trigger
My mom’s recent visit and the precious hours we got to spend together (on top of all the amazing produce she brought from her garden) 🤗🍇🍎🫑🥕🍅🫐🥧
Some cooler mornings (is that a hint of fall I detect in the air? *fingerscrossed*) 💙🌬🍁
Taking the time to write 🖋📝
A question that remains…
How do you work through life’s unexpected twists and turns? 🤔🤔🤔
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