Today I made a decision to sit and write. To do my utmost best in resisting distraction, to work against the pull of all those other things.
I love my writing. Honestly, there is little in the world that can match it. And yet, it takes so much effort to work towards, so much straining to actually produce something, to make sure the day is not wasted.
I don’t know why…
I realised that loving something doesn’t intrinsically make it easy, effortless. In fact, it can have the opposite effect. The more we love something, the more we wish for it to work out, and the more we care if it doesn’t. I suppose, in a sense, this is easy to understand.
There is a ton of weight resting on my ability. The fear of failure is so much greater when it is something I dearly care about.
The fear of not being good enough. Of never being good enough.
I want to let all my creative juices flow without anything holding me back. Without any of the anxieties surrounding my writing – what I can and cannot do. Without perpetually weighing myself up against others.
I only want to sit and write.