Love the Process
Let's write something. Anything. Maybe about reading. I've read more this year than any year in recent memory. Most books I have logged to goodreads, that's for sure. Books there are probably accurate for the past several years. I was pretty good at reading shortly after college, back when I worked in an office and had a commute. The funny thing is, I was never very good at reading in high school or college. But, I grew up loving reading, escaping to fantasy worlds full of magic, imagination and excitement. I've gotten back to those roots this year and when I devour fantasy, I find I tend to stick to non-fiction better, as well. I have figured out that I need patterns and routines. I sauna after most workouts and leave that time for non-fiction. Before bed is for fiction, this year devouring the two Hierarchy books, the Mistborn trilogy and more. Reading so regularly has really revealed that it's more like a muscle than anything else. Sustained attention, reading pace, want and desire to come back to a book. Simply by reading more, in general, I set myself up to continue to read more. It's a good reinforcing loop.
But, as that muscle has been building, others have atrophied, like writing. I have always enjoyed writing and developed some good habits with morning pages and short check-in journals in the latter half of last year. This year, however, I have struggled to make much of the same time for that. I think the primary driver of that is my loss of mornings. This new job starts early, often with calls at 7am. I have always been a night owl, and it has been a difficult adjustment. By the time those calls clear up, I just don't have the same frame of mind I want to sit down and write. I am going to try, though, there are days when I don't have to go right from sleep to calls. My challenge to myself is to use those mornings to stretch, meditate and journal. To carve out the time I need for myself, imposing control when and where I can. It won't always be this way, I plan to move so I can go into the office and get back on a normal workday schedule. That's still several months out, and I am worried about the winter months but there simply isn't anything I can do but suck it up and deal with it.
I do like this job, quite a lot actually. It demands so much of me, can be infuriatingly stressful, and can consume so much of me. But, it challenges me in so many good ways. Rarely have I been in a position where someone else's expectations of me are higher than my own, but at this new org, I am finding it difficult to know which bar is set higher at times. I can feel woefully inadequate, yet get great reviews or public shoutouts for my hard work. I think part of that is the ever present imposter syndrome, but the louder part is probably that voice that's always been there. The one that likes to remind me that I am not doing enough, or that I don't know the right things, or that I am not cut out for it, whatever it may be. I have never processed compliments well, I don't know why I can be so hard on myself and maybe that's something worth the time to figure out, one day. That day is not today, and won't be tomorrow. For now, I'll just continue to deal it like I always have. I have missed writing, even if there is no point. Maybe especially if there is no point. Because I am not trying to control the thoughts that want to come out. I'm just letting them happen. And writing for something pseudo-public feels like a form of introspection or therapy. I am not censoring any feelings, yet I am letting someone out there access and see them. That's how I processed my last role change, it's why I started this blog in the first place. I cared, I really wanted that place to work out, it was a wonderful job but a terrible company. Unsurprisingly, it's no longer operating. The writing was on the wall, but I was fortunate enough to enjoy a few months of watching it wilt as I waited, and worked, until I was ready to move on.
Part of why I stopped writing for this page was that I did not need it anymore. I wrote those posts to get through the death of a career path and found my way through to the other side. I needed every second to figure out the new way of doing things, and the habit disappeared. I am not back to writing because I need something, again, but simply because I miss it. I like slowing down to write, I enjoy taking the time to string together some semi-coherent trains of thought into something one or two people out there may take the time to read. I think I also see it as a form of taking some control of the narrative, of my days. I would love to write weekly, even if just for a paragraph or two, as a habitual anchor. I know I am the only one who can control that, but I know myself well enough to know that will be an uphill battle.
So, maybe this kickstarts a habit that I stick to for a few weeks. Maybe I challenge myself to get even a few sentences out the door and maybe I spend time customizing my page, building a digital garden, until the habit lapses again. And when it does, all I can remember to do is to not hold it against myself. To not give in to the voices shouting about another failed habit, another thing left incomplete. Because, there is no definition of complete here. There is no end stage, or final boss of writing for the sake of writing. It's time to fall in love with the process, again.