I find myself laying on beds. Couches. Floors. Staring out windows. Eyes glazed. Thoughts scattered.
I don’t know how I feel.
That’s really been rattling me.
I like to think of myself as a relatively self-aware human. I reflect a lot. I journal often. I wonder out loud about my actions and be vulnerable online.
And yet, I have no fucking idea how I feel right now.
I am in the midst of a huge life transition. Ending a relationship. Packing up a house. Moving to a new state.
Starting over, in every sense of the phrase.
And while I look forward to certain aspects of the move (like actually having things to do on a Friday night) most of the time I find myself lost.
Lost for words. Lost in thought. Just lost.
It’s nearly the end of the work year and I’ve got nothing left.
I stare at my computer wishing for the words to come, so I can check off my client to-do lists and get my pay check at the end of the fortnight.
But each day is becoming more and more of a struggle. I dawdle. I jump between blog posts. I work backwards, ticking off the items that require the least amount of brain power first.
Nothing is working. Not really. I’m still writing, but it doesn’t feel natural. I haven’t written an article for this website in nearly six months.
And although “the situation” hasn’t been unfolding for that long, it feels like a symbol of my gradual decline into IDK.
You see, I recently transitioned my business. I took a gamble and followed my calling, and nothing’s happened yet. I didn’t expect a flood of new clients, but I didn’t expect crickets either.
Pouring my heart into these programs and offerings, only to receive radio silence, has been tough.
I’ve been drowning out the worry with positive affirmations and reminders that THEY’RE COMING, but it’s the in between that kills.
The pockets of time where my brain isn’t occupied. When I visualise my inbox holding several inquiries, only to see it filled with spam and newsletters.
I don’t know how to fix any of it. Well, I guess I do, but not right now.
Right now, I have no energy for anything. Other than reading and binge watching TV shows.
It feels like my creativity has left the building, or is taking a very long nap.
And it deserves a break, truly, it does. But it’s scary to sit here while it’s recuperating, and feel so flat and floating.
I’ve been through this before. It happens almost like clockwork at this time of year. I know that once the wet season kicks in, the words come back.
Once the rain comes, I can write again. The humidity is lifted and my anxiety is quite literally, washed away with the storms. It sounds like a cliche, but it feels like I can breathe again.
It rained this morning. I woke up to a darkened sky and puddles on the cement. Our plants were glistening and the wind was cool. It gave me hope.