From the Archives: What to Do When Lightening Strikes You, Instead of Motivation

NOTE: THIS SUBSTACK POST WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON 12/21/2022

I’m writing this today at 2pm fully understanding that I have fallen behind on my original schedule/cadence, which if you’re new, that’s every Tuesday at 7am. After the influx of positive feedback from last week’s read aloud I have decided to (hopefully) integrate that element into every entry with the ultimate goal of further elaboration and additional topics as a podcast.

The thought of launching a podcast has been on my radar for about three years now - maybe even longer. Let me put it this way, it’s been on my mind for so long that the equipment I bought initially, is now outdated. That being said, I understand that the only ROI I may get on this new equipment is surface level purpose and an archive of talking to myself, but to me that seems like a justifiable price per use.

Yesterday I sat in front of the blank page on my computer just as I did Sunday afternoon and the last three days before. In a hopeful attempt I moved my laptop to the kitchen, maybe a change of environment would be the sure remedy for writers block - assuming the ailment holding me back from writing was classified as such. Writers block seems so elite - I’m not sure I consider myself a writer?

I grabbed a blanket off the couch, wrapped it around my waste like a trendy winter sarong that you’d probably pay too much for on SSENCE and sat down at the bench where I had written plenty of entries before, no problem. I took a breath at the screen in front of me, on it glowed the same construction site of a document. A heap of entries - some posted, others abandoned, most awaiting adoption. I believe I’ve mentioned this document in a previous entry. As I skimmed through the pages trying to snag a thought to work from - nothing became of it. Just me, a blanket sarong and 2 hours of avoidance to the tune of scrolling on my phone. 

One of my favorite reads from this year was Murakami’s “What I talk about when I talk about running” . If you haven’t read anything by Murakami I highly recommend this memoir as well as his other widely renowned novel Norwegian Wood. The way he writes is different from other authors I admire like Didion and Kafka but his ability to describe feelings is unlike anybody I’ve come across before, it’s beautiful. In the early chapters of his memoir, Murakami mentions that he stops writing at a point where he feels he could write more. When I’m writing these newsletters every week, I rarely leave them feeling like I can write more - perhaps that’s one of the reasons I’m reluctant to formally proclaim myself a “writer.” Typically I leave these entries excited to write another. Most often I leave them absolutely exhausted, falling asleep shortly after scheduling.

I’m quite jealous of people who can get something done merely because it is something that needs to be done. Not to completely sidetrack but I am coming to realize that as I’ve gotten older I’ve become more jealous of qualities other people have vs. features. Growing up I never remember thinking to myself, “wow I wish I could be as motivated as *insert person here*” The jealousy was more surface level like having a certain body type or designer bag. I suppose I’m not jealous of things in that way anymore because those things feel fairly obtainable to me now - which also means they’re less enticing. Admirable qualities like persistence or motivation are daily practices - they cant explicitly be bought.

Motivation for me comes in such highs and lows. I’m fairly certain this is a result of never doing my algebra homework from the 7th grade onward. Not doing my homework meant that I would fall behind on a unit or fail a test but it also meant that I could do whatever I wanted when I came home from school. It wasn’t catastrophically risky. However, there’s a bit more thrill in avoiding my to-do list as an adult. If I avoid the list for long enough, I might ruin my entire life.

It’s now 10pm and I’m finding myself back in the same position I was Monday. Blanket sarong around my waist, moderate spinal pain. For the last three hours I’ve been staring at the cursor blinking in between these paragraphs. It’s mocking me - just pull out another page of writing. Nothing is coming to mind other than I have more work to finish tonight before going to sleep. I pray this isn’t a familiar cadence for upcoming entries.

As the end of the year creeps in it feels as though I’ve been in a constant state of reflection. Although, I’m not sure if it’s reflection or grievance - perhaps a combination of both. Even writing this entry there’s an underlying tone of comparison. Moving forward at times feels so sluggish and debilitating. The unfamiliar terrifies me, but I understand that it is the only way towards progress. There’s so much chatter around your twenties being the best time of your life but my frequent longing for direction often feels like asking for help which often feels like failure which often feels embarrassing.

What if the pressure to make something grandiose out of the fleeting years of my 20’s is so massively overbearing it prevents me from doing so? What if the best version of myself was brought out by people I am no longer connected to? What if I constantly forget to wear sunscreen, spend too much time alone and don’t drink enough water? How do we protect the future version of ourselves from the chaos of who we are right now? How do we convince them that we tried our best? Who do we apologize to for all the things we will not become? Is it our past self or future self? How will they choose to greet us? Forgiveness or some type of warfare? 

x 
MG