Writing for Clarity

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I stopped writing for awhile. It was just too hard. There was a block between the pen and the brain. My fingers couldn't put together what I was feeling. And thoughts kept on racing by. 

What was strange was it wasn't a lack of energy that kept me back. If anything it was too much. Which is probably strange to more than a few people. 

There are times when my brain races. Ideas are a dime a dozen. They just keep coming. Normally I'd take the time to filter. Wait a second. But not at times like this. Every thought seems important. Worthy. I have to catch them all. Chasing until the point of decision paralysis. Every idea needs equal time I can't give. 

So then the crash happens. And every idea looks like trash. Pure refuse. What's the point? Other than doubt. 

I can't write in that pendulum swing. Not anything worthwhile. 

I set a goal this year to write everyday. Develop the mental musculature, the discipline to push through moments. To increase productivity. 

I found myself asking, for what? Why?

Creating just to create. Writing just to write. That's not enough. I write reports for work, post on social media, journal. Daily. Something bubbles up every single day. I don't need to write just to write. I've got the reps coming in. The process is occurring regularly. 

So why do I write? What is the motivation?

That's a question right? What is a writer's inspiration? 

For some it's reflection. Leaning into our mental health challenges. Using substances. Unlocking that creativity. 

Not me. Not for me.

I need some peace. A moment of clarity from the storm. 

I'm finding that again. 

Like I said before, ideas aren't hard for me to come by. Finding one that I can trust to hold onto? That's something different. Harder to find. 

When I can place what's truly inside, directly onto a page, that's something I can hold onto. I can breathe. I think that's clarity. 

It's that perfect moment where the snow covers the tree and blankets the lawn, but leaves the road clear. 

A singular coalescence. Making sense in the chaos. 

I keep chasing that. And hoping, that it will mean the same to someone who reads it, that feels like me. Fleeting and rare as that may be.


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