I have dreamed of days when words come to me easily. When I am writing without a worry… again. Again, because I have been here several times. Scribbling my thoughts, reflections, opinions, little notes about everything and nothing. Then, with one press of the key, I delete it all. Because… because… because… the reasons in my head are too many to count.
So, when I saw the #100Times challenge on Kemi’s page, something clicked. Maybe this is what it will take to return to writing… again. Maybe if I have to write, then I can ignore the voices and just do it. Let me first pause here to ask. Does anyone else think of A Beautiful Mind when talking about voices in your head? No one? Okay, back to this. Why am I returning to writing… again?
Don’t get me wrong. I have been writing. For work. For a weekly column. But not just because. I used to write just because. Then I stopped. I could bore you with all the reasons that led me there, but that is a whole other blog. Today is about why I am returning …again.
For the longest time, I have not felt like myself. I know I have mentioned it before. If you are in my life, you have had that line. Today, I will try to paint a picture of what that has felt like. Imagine looking for someone in a dimly lit room. Heavy on the dimly lit. You call out to them, and you hear something like their voice responding. But you cannot be sure. You call out again. You hear the sound again. You cannot place which direction the sound is coming from, but now you’re sure there is somebody there. Is it somebody you used to know?
[Cue Gotye ft Kimbra-inspired violins here.]
You cannot be sure. You keep calling out. You hear the sound, yet cannot seem to reach its source. You cannot find a switch on the wall to turn on the light, even after several attempts to feel for it. There are no windows, and even the door you walked in through is dressed in shadows. You get out of the room and move on with your life, but that sound still lingers. You know there must be someone there, but you feel powerless to go look. That is how I have felt. Like, I know Kenganzi or at least a version I can recognise is in there somewhere, but she is elusive. Yes, I am talking about myself in the third person, but you get the picture.
It feels like life has been happening to me instead of me living it. Even when it seems like I have been living it. Those moments have come with a lot of fighting on my part, for the desire to do them and God’s grace, for the most part, for the will to do them. I am not sure how I feel about that, but I know that writing has always helped me process things. Even my deepest prayers rush out of my head faster and more earnestly when I am writing than when I am speaking. When I try to say them out loud, all that comes out are murmurs that make me understand why Eli thought Hannah was drunk when he found her praying in the temple (See 1 Samuel 1:13 for reference)
So, I return to writing … again.