Skip This Post Because, Honestly, It’s Not For You

No hard feelings, fiery reader.

I don’t know what to write.

I don’t have a captivating sentence or well-thought-out hook that’s going to lure you in and keep you reading. You won’t find a simile, metaphor, or thesis that changes your life for the better. Or make you feel something. Not in this piece.

I promise, it wasn’t a lack of effort. I’ve been thinking about what to write all week, reading through my list of ideas piling up in every physical and digital pocket. My finger aches from the refresh button as desperation lies on my chest like a sleeping cat done with its sunbathing for the day. I thought about what to write. So much so that I grew weary of blank pages. Running away from pen and paper because I couldn’t drum up an idea that would ignite that writer’s spark. The idea that comes to you and elicits some excitement and a little fear. Fear that lurks in the corner and appears foreboding but serves as confirmation of what you need to create.

That magical idea didn’t come this week. But I’m choosing to write. If I don’t, part of me will wisp away with the wind. As much as I love the wind, she can’t have me. So, I’m writing because I have to show up. One day, the future will knock on my door, and I have to say that I tried. That I was going to do what I said I would when shit hit the fan. That I answered the call when the spirits and ancestors visited me in a dream whispering, “Write honestly.”

Write what you know, what you fear, and what you have been willing to speak about. Be willing to split open.
- Unkown

My previous ideas were honest, but they didn’t reflect my most current truth. I endured mental gymnastics and self-inflicted pressure to come up with something engaging, heart-wrenchingly creative, deep, thoughtful, edited, and algorithm-friendly. Nagged over potential catchy titles while preparing my dinner or stirring my morning London fog. All to avoid the truth I already knew. The one I feared. The one that split me wide open.

I simply didn’t know what to write.

While this admission isn’t unique, it’s an uncomfortable one. I want to be as engaging as possible, to look professional, and to produce great work consistently. Don’t get me wrong, I still want those things. Even now, my gaze flirts with the delete button and will likely continue to do so after publishing. However, reflecting on my priorities and the random notes of encouragement in my feed, the key is to keep going. No matter what I put out, no matter how “perfect” or polished or sensical it is, it’ll get me closer to my goal than submitting nothing.

Blocks happen. What’s real isn’t always exciting. The disappointment will come, and it will go. And there will be a next time.