To Thine Own Self Be True

I haven’t been writing lately, but not for lack of reading. Quite the opposite. With four books off the shelf since my last post, all equally worthy of writing about, I just haven’t been inspired to write about them. Yet I still want to write. You see my dilemma?

Writing about books has taken some of the joy out of reading them. I’m not even two months in, and instead of enjoying the book for what it is, I’m reading it through a lens of “how can I write about this?” Not unlike graduate school, which was the last time I caught myself stressing about reading. After the program ended, I took a sabbatical from books. 

And I don’t want to take a break from books. Or from writing. 

So do I force it and slog on? Do I churn out posts just to follow through on a commitment I made to myself? If I were in my 20s, I think I would. Scratch that. I know I would. I’d be too self-conscious and embarrassed to backtrack on something that isn’t working for me anymore. I’d berate myself for barely making it two months before deciding it’s not a good fit and stick it out for a year. Fake it til you make it!

Honestly, I started going down that path. A version of this post is half written, covering short recaps of the books I’ve recently read. It’s not good. 

This post might not be either. BUT – and it’s a big and important but so please read the end of this sentence with care – I’m enjoying the writing process of this post so much more. Because it’s honest and vulnerable. Which isn’t easy, but it’s more rewarding. 

You can try something in the hopes it will work, but if it doesn’t, there’s no shame in backing off one idea to try another. Or another. When you talk about it with others, you’ll find you’re not alone. Far from it. 

People are more prone to share vulnerabilities when they realize they’re not the only person to experience regret or shame or jealousy or anything other than unbridled joy and pride. By sharing my struggles with anxiety, I’ve had the great fortune of having others open up to me about theirs. I learn time and again that no one is as interested in what you do or how you look as much as you are. We are our biggest critics. 

So while the me of 2011 would power through and make my blog stick with the book theme, the me of 2021 has learned some things. I’ve done the work to know myself, and I’m realizing that I used one of my loves, reading, as a crutch to build my confidence about returning to another love, writing. It worked for a short while. But now I need to pivot. 

All of this to say that my goal of writing is the same: to write just to write, and to break the stigma around messy feelings. However, the theme is open ended. Books no longer need to be my scaffolding for either of those things; they can return to being a solace. 

I may write about what I’m reading, but I’m no longer limiting myself to that niche. It could be podcasts, articles, current events, or personal anecdotes that serve as a jumping off point. Who knows? I certainly don’t, and that’s okay.