This past month, I’ve had a definite resistance to sitting down and writing something. I haven’t missed it. These phases have become standard in my life. I go through spurts of wanting to write everything down followed by periods of keeping it all in me and to myself.
A few months back, I had a conversation with a writer friend who said that she needed to write everyday. Her passion sought consistent expression through the writing process. I, on the other hand, while considering myself a writer of sorts, have never had that compulsion. My primary phase of writing occurred over my schooling years, when I already felt an outcast and could at least lose and express myself through stories and poetry. The only other times in my life when the need existed was when I had strong emotions to expel; heartbreak, depression, angst, and the like.
These days, most of my life is pretty sorted. I write when I feel like sharing or when something in my experience elicits an emotional response. The trend exists in both my blogging and social media interactions. There are days when I’d update my status or Tweet about what’s happening around me quite regularly. More often, however, I simply reblog some interesting or humourous post gleaned off the intrawebs.
Perhaps, this isn’t indicative of a resistance to writing so much as simply not having the need for it. I enjoy writing. I enjoy expressing myself through words. But, like a good, moist chocolate cake, I don’t have to indulge in it everyday. Just on those meaningful and spirited occasions.