The Worth of Words

I spend a lot of time overthinking and not writing because I’m scared my words won’t come out the way I want them to. 

Deep breath.

Here I am anyway. Feeling uncertain, a little untethered, and also ready to take a plunge into the unfamiliar and let my words be what they will.

When I started this blog, I told myself it would be a place to test my legs as a writer. I wanted a forum to share my writing and thinking and start conversations with people about things and ideas that matter to me. 

I’ve barely invested any time in my writing lately, and that is what it is. There are a few reasons which I’ll dig into because context matters, in my humble opinion.

First of all: the month of February has kicked my ass hard for the last couple years. February 2020 was honestly the first February since 2017 that didn’t completely suck. There are reasons, but that is a story unto itself.

My point is, during the longest short month of February, I set a goal to write at least a few things to put up on this blog and I didn’t do it.

I invested my time in other ways. Reading some things on my endlessly long reading list, connecting with new friends, and putting in lots of marathon training miles. 

Then, March rolled in all “I’m just another month” and then it was anything but normal. Without much warning (debatable), our lives were upended by a global pandemic. Covid-19 became our new reality, and with it, everything that had been familiar, normal, or comfortable went out the window as the world scrambled to control the spread of an extremely virulent disease.

My kids and I had just started our spring break. Last day of school, March 12th. Next day, I’m faced with the reality that what I’m reading in the news is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets any better.

I’ll write more on this later, but for now I want to process the simple fact that I’m writing at all. I’ve told you why I hadn’t been writing prior to Covid-19, and now it’s time to dig into how terribly fucking hard it’s been to get myself to sit down to write at all since it’s all begun.

Immobilized is perhaps a good way to describe my state of being. Autopilot might be another. Survival mode. This is the first time I’ve felt like I can get anything of length or substance on paper (screen). A month into this strange new reality, I have been able to find enough focus to do the thing that I love. Writing is cathartic for me, and it’s been terribly painful to not feel like I can do it.

I am a single parent, and a teacher. One of my sons has an autoimmune disorder. I have anxiety which is triggered by the fear of myself or others around me becoming ill, and of losing the people I love. (This is where I tell you I’ve got a longer story to tell about that-another time). Not to mention, I miss my friends.

I’ve had to work hard just to keep routine for my children and my students while I try to stay healthy for myself. Some days are really tough and it’s hard to see any hope in the darkness. Other days are ok, and I can carry on with things as long as I don’t stop to think too much.

And that’s the thing about writing. It takes a lot of stopping and thinking. I need to be able to reflect and dig in. And I haven’t been in a place where I can dig into anything without spiraling into a full on anxiety attack. Because everything in the world right now feels so unfamiliar and scary. I feel immobilized. I am doing my best, and still sometimes I just want to cry.

Today, I listened to a good friend of mine talk about how this pandemic has impacted and likely will continue to impact the arts and artists down the road. He spoke to the fact that artists have an inherent, deep need to create art. It’s like breathing. It’s a part of being. And that art should not only be seen as important in our society, but valued for what it’s worth. Which is a lot. It’s worth a lot.

Arts have kept many of us sane and balanced through this strange and unprecedented time. We are watching movies and reading books in great quantity. Actors are streaming free content- we are benefitting greatly from their commitment to their craft.

And then I realized how deeply important the arts are to me- as a human being making my way through life, art has gotten me through so many of my darkest times. Hell, I took improv classes that got me through some really dark days. I came out a better person.

I guess my point here is that I’m grateful I’ve been able to sit down and write again. And I’m grateful for the art that’s being made by wonderful, talented friends and acquaintances. I’m grateful for artists I’ll likely never meet but whose contributions to society I greatly admire.

I’m going to take every chance I get to put the words I have in my head out into the world, even if it’s just a stream of consciousness. Hopefully those words will resonate with at least one person, and then it will have been worth it.

AWS April 15, 2020