Writing From A Sofa
August 1, 2018
I’m sitting here on my lunch break, showing up to write. I’m trying to find the fun in writing again. The simple joy of writing my life.
As I write this on my phone, delving inside myself to try and find the words, it strikes me how scary this can be.
Maybe one reason people stopped sharing stories is because we stopped valuing them. In the world of social media we are all performing, we’re all on show, we all have to be perfect.
So showing off our mundane lives seems to become less valued, even shamed. I get really scared showing my bare naked self. Scared of feeling lesser than, deficient and insignificant.
As for me, what life do I have? I am single, no children – though I have a beautiful niece and nephew whom I adore. I have no exciting career or daily life of a parent or partner to speak of.
It sounds quite sad and depressing. It’s not. But loneliness is very real. Sleep is often very difficult. Showing up for myself is work every day.
A lot of things are happening my life – new Church, potentially a new home, new job. I’ve been doing tons of inner work I want to write a memoir about. I have lots to bring me joy, yet loneliness feels more common.
Maybe I stopped writing because I’m afraid. Afraid of the pain and the joy which might come from really examining myself.
And I want to write and have fun. To have some mischief. Enjoy the creative process. Strip it down and make it simple. It became such a chore, a duty, so complicated. I forgot the fun of writing. I’m still trying to find it again.
Which brings me back to sitting on a sofa in my office, writing a short, simple post on my phone.
Maybe that’s a good place to begin.
(Picture source: Morguefile)