A Long Time Ago…

That sounds like the opening to a novel. This is not a novel, but one has to start a story in some manner, so why not.

A long time ago, I used to be able to write whenever I put my fingers on the keyboard or a writing utensil to paper. It was a feeling like the words wanted to be created. Not that those words together necessarily formed anything that was worth reading, but they existed and that felt like an accomplishment.

When I say a long time ago, I don’t know exactly how long, decades maybe, but time seems to become less rigidly calculable the older I get. I will think of an event and realize that it happened much more recently or distant than I thought. So long ago feels like decades, but may have been only years.

Either way that habit of writing that felt so natural has become more of an effort. I’m sure I can think of numerous reasons that I find myself at a loss for words. Exhaustion from work/life. Lack of interesting things to say because of a lack of time or energy to experience new things to discuss. Maybe our brains just become less skilled at certain things over time, other mundane thoughts and tasks taking over the space where those words once flowed.

Repetition becomes a habit. We tell the same stories over and over (am I doing that now?), instead of creating new ones; everything by rote. A little bit like how our lives tend to take on routines: wake up; go to work; eat some food; go to sleep; repeat.

For the majority of us, we don’t seem to break out of these routines often. Lives based on specific needs create scenarios to fulfil those needs. We have to work to earn money to have a life, so we do, perhaps to the detriment of said life. It is a fine balance and that repetition prevents us from falling too far from our comfortable little bubbles. Never leaving our little bubbles though means less input for new stories.

A long time ago I was young and learning all the things, now I am older, still learning but the lessons aren’t always as impactful and generally not as interesting to try to relay. These days I open this blog, desperately wanting to feel that natural flow of words, but I stare at the page and spend too much time wondering if anyone else will care about my words (sometimes I wonder if I am even making sense when I do write).

This is where I am, comfortable in my bubble, but lacking new experiences to describe to you or perhaps lacking the will to impart some of those recent experiences.

I don’t wish to be in the past, that time is gone, those lessons learned (or not), but I do wish my mind could revert back to that state of expression. Maybe it is something that can be achieved through habit, can you relearn natural expression or am I writing on repeat?

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