Just write
Just write. That was the decision I made at around 2:35 this morning. Just write. No ambition. No lofty or altruistic goals. Just writing for its own sake. My own selfish sake. My own sane soul.
I took a break from my blogging. Nearly a month, though it felt like three. I stopped because I doubted what I was writing and why. And stopping was the natural response to that doubt. Taking time to reflect and soul-search. To ask myself, “What am I doing here? And where am I going?”
I doubted my reasons. I doubted my fidelity. I doubted my pen.
But what I’ve found is that I’ve been overthinking nearly everything, which I suppose is better than simply not thinking at all. I presume there’s enough empty-headedness devouring the world these days.
Thinking is good, but overthinking is debilitating. Overwhelming in an unhealthy way.
She was right to warn me that my doubts and cynicism could give way to nihilism. And for a split second, they had.
And I’ve recovered, having come to the conclusion that writing is just my way of understanding myself and making sense of the world, even when the world seems endlessly full of senselessness.
So I’ll stop turning things over and over in my mind, as thoughts only get more and more tangled when the laundry of the mind is set on infinite spin. While the wheels of the world keep churning their machinations of madness.
What will be, will be.
Like Camus’ Sisyphus, I’ll keep pushing the pen across the page, with only that line of black ink as proof any of this was real. And I’ll be as happy as I can be, content in knowing my capabilities and limitations. In knowing her unconditional love despite our current distance.
All else is but the certain mystery of the unknowable.