I don’t have words today. Every sentence feels far away and lands flat on its face like a kid on roller blades careening down a hill.
Work update
The hunt for new team members continues, and I’m hopeful we can make an offer by the end of the month for at least one of the roles.
Alongside the lesson development, recruitment, and every other area, I’m working my way through a learning path in LinkedIn Learning to further understand the aspects of Instructional Design. I already have more clarity and direction just from the first section, and I’m excited to keep learning and improving my process!
Personal update
This rollerblading-kid-careening-down-a-hill sensation is not new. This tunnel isn’t one of a kind. I’ve been here before, and I’ll be here again. The thing about writing is that even when you don’t want to write, all you can do is think about writing about why you don’t want to write. It’s a true conundrum of the trade.
When you turn a passion into a source of income, it can become a tedious high wire, swaying back and forth between refuge and prison.
Even when I have no words, words are all I have.
That’s been the spine of my story so far. Writing is where I turn with fears, anger, pain, dreams, goals—it all goes onto the page.
I used to wonder why it was harder for me to write when I was happy or content, thought maybe there was something wrong with me. But I’ve come to realize that writing is best when it’s an extreme, and that works with positive emotions, too. At the time, I hadn’t felt anything so overwhelmingly joyful that it spilled out onto the page the way my sorrow had. Once you feel those emotions and that fire, you can learn how to write from the memory of them and keep your peace otherwise.
You can collect the extremes, your own or others, and dole them out as needed like a peddler. That way, no anguish is wasted, no laugh is lost. Even fiction isn’t so much made up as it is recycled. Stitched together patchworks of remembered feelings, facts we’ve learned, stories we’ve collected, half-forgotten faces of strangers. They say even the seemingly random people we see in our dreams are created from faces we’ve seen but not known.
You have to live life to write, even if you write to live.
That’s all I have today.
Thank you for reading.
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