“El silencio no es tiempo perdido”. – El Rito, Soda Stereo
One of my favorite song lyrics, meaning “silence is not time wasted.”
My blog has been dormant for 553 days. During this period, I have, at times, quietly observed and experienced my deepest urges and desires to write. At others, I have complained loudly and endlessly about my silence –which masquerades as “writer’s block”– to anyone within earshot. I’m sure I’ve driven a few of you crazy.
In these 553 days, I’ve consistently received, and also given myself, one main piece of advice: JUST DO IT. (Thank you, Nike.) It’s true: all it takes is to sit my butt down and grab either my computer, or a notebook and a pen, and simply create letters grouped in specific patterns that form words, and eventually sentences, until it becomes what we call writing.
Before I go on, allow me to clarify that I have written sporadically, albeit not publicly. I still have my journal, but even that has gone unloved for 6 months now.
Whenever I’m stuck in an area of life that matters to me, the personal development company I participate with always has me look at what’s missing in that area which, if it were there, would make a real difference, maybe even inspire me. This is in direct opposition to what I learned growing up, which was to look for what’s wrong or what needs to be fixed. Over the years, I’ve become a master at “fixing” things; however, there aren’t very many things that are actually broken, and my writing certainly isn’t one of them.
I love to write. Everyone knows this about me. I even have a tattoo about writing! (Not like that proves anything other than I can tolerate a needle piercing my skin with ink, but still, I think it’s cool). So then, if I love to write and there’s nothing wrong with my writing, what’s the problem? What’s been keeping me quiet?
I’ve been in this inquiry for as long as I’ve been silent. Longer than that, actually, because this isn’t the first time I’ve stopped doing that which I’m most passionate about. And the only answer I’ve come up with is this: I feel fear and I let it stop me. What if what I write sucks? What if my inspiration runs dry? I live a full and busy life; what if I can’t make time for it? Or worse, what if I become so unpracticed with writing that I lose all desire for it?
That last question feels like a dagger through my heart. And while it may seem silly or overly dramatic to some, this is truly what’s been having me feel so afraid all this time.
So, back to what’s missing. After much personal discovery work, I realized I gave up on my commitment to make a difference with others through my writing. That’s what moves me the most, other than my love of creating words on paper. I want to make a difference, and I do make a difference, but at some point in the last 553 days, I got distracted. I lost touch with the part of my Soul that very softly, yet quite insistently, says to me, “Your writing makes a difference. You make a difference. Your writing is worthy. You are worthy. Your writing is enough. You are enough.”
What’s been missing is my self-worth.
And no one can give me my self-worth. It is mine to create in each moment. It is only for me to know, with absolute and unwavering certainty, that I am always enough simply because I say that I am.
That is the power of my Word.
So here I am, back at it again. Stay tuned – there’s much more to come.
And, as always, thank you for reading.
Photo by: Anthony Chiechi / Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay
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