Tuesday January 7, 2020 // Past Bedtime
Can I tell you a secret? It’s deep and it doesn’t want to be shared. It’s the kind of secret you have no problem keeping to yourself. There’s zero temptation to let it slip out to your friend or even your dog.
This kind of secret is personal. It’s about myself and no one else. It affects no one but me. There is no reason to share it with anyone. I could close this MacBook right now, walk upstairs and go to sleep without hesitation.
But there is something that’s stopping me. Some distant voice crying out begging me not to abandon the words on this page. It’s a faint whisper. Just loud enough to know that I’m not alone writing this. Maybe it’s something divine; maybe it’s my past self stopping me from giving up. I’m really not sure who it is.
But it’s there. It’s telling me that the thing that’s bothering me, this secret I’m holding in, … it’s telling me that it isn’t true. That it is all a lie. That what I’m doing is virtuous, even if it’s for myself and no one else.
My secret? My secret is that I do not want to be here writing. That I’d rather be doing anything else right now. That counting the tiles in my kitchen backsplash is a better use of my time than this. That writing is painful and leads to more painful things.
That’s my secret. This secret has been getting the best of me for some time now. I’m glad I’m able to hear that whisper every once in awhile.
– Josh // battling writer’s block