These days, when I write, I always seem to go back to the same things.
I never plan out my blog posts, by the way. I used to, but now I don’t.
That’s why I keep ending things the same way, returning to the same moves
for a puzzle I haven’t yet managed to solve.
Really, who wants to write about the same things, over and over again?
Better just to shut up and solve it, and speak again
when there is something new to say.
J. (From a blog entry dated June 1, 2011)
If it had been left up to me, I would have reposted the entirety of the blog entry from which the above extract was taken. As always, I’ll have to settle for picking one gem among many and then running away with whatever I get from it.
In this particular blog entry, my friend J. talks about the “bald spots where the urge for writing, once abundant, just disappears” and where one doesn’t “feel motivated to share, or even to articulate long lines of thought” to oneself, let alone to others.
I’ve been hitting these bald spots more and more often lately. It has less to do with a dwindling urge for writing per se, and more to do with a diminishing preoccupation for reflection altogether.
On second thought, allow me to correct myself: It isn’t that the preoccupation (in the sense of an instinctive preference for) has disappeared—it’s the luxury of indulgence that has.
Said another way: I’ve been so bewilderingly busy lately that I haven’t had the time (or more importantly the energy) to cultivate the state of whimsical reverie that tends to precede all my acts of writing.
Said another way: I haven’t had the time or the energy to cultivate that state of frank and utter…uselessness that seems to be so productive of writing (or of any creative or playful endeavor for that matter).
And it’s a pity, because we all need our creative and playful outlets. We all need our trivial, little hobbies: these tiny black holes that absorb our energy and attention and thereby remind us that (really) the universe isn’t entirely about accelerating growth and expansion. We all need the occasional contraction, the collapsing into self, the momentary surrender into the gravities generated within.
So yes, this is my little black hole. It can get a bit dark at times, but it sure is cozy.