I’m tired in a way I haven’t felt in a bit, which means — perhaps — it’s the perfect time to start writing again. My prefrontal cortex feels somewhat offline, so I’m looking to my exhaustion to play defense against the overthinking that most often ensues when I consider that someone else will read (and god forbid judge!) something I wrote.
Because every damn time I try to write something, I get so hung up in the math of it all. I’m mostly trying to say one very important thing (or, at least, important by my own taste) and then try to craft an entire fucking puzzle to get the point across.
This thing goes there and this should go here and then suddenly it feels like a corporate marketing campaign with too many opinions and pointless revs. It loses its soul and says both everything and nothing. Over-curation very rarely leads to brilliance.
I’m realizing there is a lot of brilliance in word vomit. It’s when the veil between the conscious and subconscious mind is thin that we can finally say to hell with it and tell the truth without care for how it’s dressed up.
That said, I’ve been wanting to write for a long time. I have it as a part of my job title on my Hinge and LinkedIn bio and I talk about it constantly.
I can’t stand people who talk about this thing they’re going to do, but don’t…
