I haven’t written anything for the longest time. It’s been like 9 months?
I’m giving myself 30 minutes, no distractions, no excuses – write something and post it at 11:33pm.
Something not quarantine related, god knows I’m sick of every conversation being intrinsically linked to how we’re all stuck at home. How are you spending your time? What’re you baking? Are you being productive? – If not, why not? You’re wasting this time you’re never going to get again. I get it. This is UnPrEcEdEnTed.
How are you? Genuinely. How are you? Not “ok yeah, not bad, plodding along.” How are you really within yourself? This might be the first time since last June where I’m actually being present. Present in my own being. There is currently nothing in my mind that’s distracting me from myself. I’m not being productive – sue me, I’m not anxious about how much I hate my PGCE (I quit, but that’s another blog), I’m not concerned about my future, I’m not even thinking about when this might be all over and what I’m going to do. I’m just existing? This is not to say I’m happy, but I’m definitely not unhappy either given this situation.
Life’s funny. Even when it kinda sucks you have to laugh. I scrolled through ALL the photos on my iPhone library the other day. Some from great times, some from times I’d rather forget, a few from times I’d definitely forgot. I’ve looked over all of the empty notebooks I’ve amassed over the years. A few years ago I stopped dating things I wrote in them. Turns out the date is irrelevant, but the tone of the writing was everything. Maybe reading it took me back to the wrong point in time; but it did take me to A point in time. A point in time that clearly meant something to me, a point in time where I wasn’t the same person I am now. For better or worse, this isn’t a vertical progression. There are aspects of my life that I haven’t improved in, in fact I’ve regressed – which is totally fine. Other areas I’m unrecognisable. I’m infinitely more empathetic than I was at 22, but god damn I’m worse at verbally expressing my feelings and I didn’t even think that was possible.
Now it may feel like I’m not doing anything which in the future will be memorable. I’ve wrote on numerous occasions that “this year will be left out of the memoir” but none of them will be left out in the end. Right now, the only thing that matters is self-awareness. Do I accurately reflect myself? Do I look in the mirror and see what I want to see in myself, or who I actually am. Not who I present to the world, who I know myself to be.
Right now, I know I’m not “making the most of this time” by societal standards. Right now, I’m a bit of a fuck up if we’re honest. I’m not searching for what’s next.
Times up. This isn’t in the right order. This is unfinished, unedited and confusing. Which in a roundabout kind of way is fitting.
Hopefully this is the spark I needed.
Flynn! x
Let's go on an adventure. 