Some life events just stop you in your tracks. Like my daughter’s wedding this past weekend, for example. I wanted to continue writing lots of blog posts during the weeks leading up to the wedding day, really, I did.
But for some reason, I couldn’t.
Did I have time? Yes, there were always times when I could pull myself away to write.
I was physically well, planning and preparation for the big day was stressful but moving forward, and the bride (and her Mom) seemed happy.
So why couldn’t I write during those weeks? I just don’t know.
I was able to eke out one of my weaker posts, Talking to Myself, in those weeks, but it was unsatisfying and largely misunderstood. And I’m not saying the post you’re reading now is a lot better.
But writing today just feels different than it has for the past month.
I really like Mark Gungor’s description of the compartmentalized male psyche as a bunch of boxes that can never touch one another, and that each man can access only one of his boxes at a time. To borrow his description, for the past month, it’s as if my “Writing” box wasn’t only closed, it had been moved off the premises.
Miraculously, my Writing box has returned, as quietly and mysteriously as it left. And I plan to spend a lot of time there in the coming weeks.
And in the Nothing box. Gotta spend some quality time there, too.