There are so many things to do, you guys. There are Podcasts to listen to, people to meet, places to visit. There are pictures to take and laughs to be had. There are books to be written, by me. Sometimes there’s so much to do that I get overwhelmed.
So far I’m 3,000 words into my NaNo novel that I seemly abandoned one week into November. I had a cold, then a birthday and then it was Thanksgiving. My brain has since moved on to Christmas and all things festive. I’ve been mentally sorting out all these things. I decorated my room with Christmas lights and now it feels more hygge and comforting. I’ve been watching Boy Meets World on Hulu when I should be sleeping. I’ve been starting books and leaving them to gather dust. I’ve been making lists of things to buy for Christmas gifts.
I’ve also been trying to journal. The way I journal these days is so different than how I used to do it. I’m not even sure how that was before. It was like I used to talk to myself. I used to tell the stories of my times. I would talk about what was going on, or how I was feeling. And now when I journal it turns into me writing lists. A lot of times I’m writing lists I’ve already made before. Sometimes I start out writing my feelings, but my mind stops working that way. I get distracted. And then I don’t write anything.
I’d like to figure out how to retrain my thoughts. I’d like to go back to talking to myself via journal entries. I’d like to have a record of my days. I’ve been reading a lot of random things about minimalism lately. I look at minimalist aesthetic images online. I’m in a few Facebook groups. I’m not sure if I could ever be a minimalist, though. Someone in one of my groups mentioned they had just finished burning all their journals. Some days I think about that. They** (minimalists) say that you don’t need sentimental things because you have the memory inside you, but I don’t think that’s necessarily the truth. I think the pictures and journal entries and blogs are documentation that you lived. They’re reminders of things that happened, because our memories aren’t always that good. That makes me start asking myself what the point is to all this. I certainly don’t want most people to read my journals when I die. I remember as a kid using my journal to speculate about what sex feels like. Even typing that here feels weird. It’s just a normal thing. It’s a normal thing that I don’t need people reading when I die. And yet, I don’t want to let go of that. People don’t need to read my endless budget recalculations and lists of people I’m giving gifts to, either.
All of this makes me wonder: what’s the point?
And I say this in a way that’s only slightly brought down by a bout of moodiness and seasonal depression. I don’t mean it in a way that’s indicative of the hopelessness my brain has felt before. Though I admit to sometimes following down that mind path.
I just wonder.
What’s the reason behind all this?
What am I doing this for? What are you reading this post for? I think the blog specific answer is about connection. I miss the blogging days when you felt connected to other bloggers, and when blogging wasn’t about making money. I think that’s why I struggle to blog these days. I feel like I’m doing it wrong. I’m sitting here writing out my thoughts, and it’s not the “right” way to blog. Who sets those rules, and who says I need to follow them, anyway? No one. They’re just thoughts. Standards. Unspoken ideas.
So we’ve reached almost the end of November and I’ve seemed to abandon yet another novel. I saw a post online the other day, and I think it was in my Timehop, where I’m sad that I had to do grad school work and real work and that I don’t have time to write all the novels and become an author. That sentiment made me pause.
Because right now I do have time for those things. And I’m not using that time to my advantage. I’m filling that time with things and ideas that sometimes I think are pointless.
I’m going to think on that for the month and get back to you guys. I’m also going to blog more. I actually don’t care what a standard for blogging is. I don’t want to make money off my thoughts, at least not like this. I want to make money off well polished essays and fiction novels.
And someday I will.