on-going mostly unedited stream of thoughts

why I still write when I do not feel like writing

There are some days like today: a Sunday, a day that I have habitually reserved for publishing posts, but the last thing I really feel like doing, is to write. This scares me, because this time is one of my favorite times of the week, and not feeling like writing, is akin to taking away something that fundamentally belongs to me.

Sometimes it is because I have too much to write. Today, I feel like I am almost afraid to write, because my emotions are not in a good place. However, on a philosophical level, I do not want to look back at a series of posts and only find a certain dimension of me.

I have come back to the same question over and over again. Is there a point to religiously publishing a post a week even if I don’t want to? I could journal privately, and that could fulfill some of my motivations for writing – to examine myself deeply. But there is some form of accountability I cherish when I write publicly, that the story I share to the world is not just full of light, that would not be authentically human. We all know to varying degrees, there are shadows everywhere that accompany places of light. Perhaps one thing that we fail to realize, is that the brighter light is, the darker our shadows become.

I am not lost on the fact that part of this trying period is because of my conscious choices of wanting to take on more weight. I can only allow myself to live a rose-tinted existence to an extent. I could, hypothetically, lead a life that is comfortable emotionally. I could remain blind and shield myself from the uncomfortable parts of existence, consciously or unconsciously.

To take a hard look on the world on a macro level, then at the world that surrounds me, all the way down to myself as a person, to be able to be brutally honest with that viewpoint: plenty of times I wish I can hide under a blanket and cry. (Believe me, hiding under a blanket and crying is the much milder version of the other things I think about.)

It never gets easier or more comfortable. The stronger I get, the more I wish to take on, the more painful it gets. Strength to me is not cultivating a personality that feels less pain, but it is one who is willing to feel more pain.

What I could do better though, is to truly understand that there is a thin line between having a hugely uncomfortable existence versus one that is just paralyzed and dysfunctional. In startup land we like to say growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of cancer, I think I stretch myself so much that I am always on the verge of killing myself, metaphorically, or literally.

It is okay to take a break from it all sometimes, I guess. Just like a muscle that needs time to heal.

Just like that, I remember why I insist on writing. I start a post confused about the purpose, and I end it having a much clearer sense through the mere act of it. Just like life, I suppose.

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