Re-entering the writing process is always difficult.
I’m going through one of the toughest phases of my life, i.e. figuring out what I want to spend a large chunk of my time on, and if there is anything this year has taught me it’s that there is absolutely no one way street in figuring out what I will consider worthwhile in ten/twenty/thirty years time. What I initially considered as honest hard work, the kind of drudgery that requires you to write off the dissatisfaction and unhappiness as “paying your dues”, I now realize only distanced me from valuable growth.
The effects of nondescript mental labor were undeniable. Creative projects like my music and writing had to take a back seat for most of 2016. Things I used to approach with clarity were suddenly labyrinthine. My drafts were two complete sentences on good days. I recorded song ideas on my iPod, only to scrap them as soon as I laid out the chords on my microKorg. I couldn’t externalize my frustration through my usual mediums, forcing me to rethink what changes I would allow in my identity and what part of myself I wouldn’t let go.
The biggest change in character (one that would have surprised my former self) was choosing to quit while I was ahead. Even as I’m writing this now I’m noticing a different tone in my writing, possibly an effect of constant exposure to rigidity and formality in my former workplace. By deciding to leave my first steady paycheck for no other reason than sheer intuition, I was forced to face the convoluted duality of being a realist and an idealist.
Somehow through sheer ruthlessness on my end, I’ve been offered a fresh start. I’m trying to give in to the learning process this new job requires me to undertake, and fully trust that it’ll take its own shape some day. Maybe I’ll surprise myself again down the line. Tying these laces up with a little bit of hope this time.