Letting Go

I haven't been writing much lately, and there's really no explanation other than the fact that I have lost confidence in myself and in my writing. I read other people's blogs, and they seem to have definitive points of interest, ranging from adorable children to amazing athletic accomplishments to brutally honest confessions to poignant analysis of timely issues. I don't seem to fit into any of those categories. I don't have dozens of people reading and commenting on my words. I can't seem to find anything that I deem--to put it in professional terms--"newsworthy" enough to send out into the universe.

And then of course, Tim reminded me of what my hero Anne Lamott recommends--"just write." And so, write I shall. No more over-analysis, self-doubt or self-pity. Even if it's something of interest only to me, I will write it. Because that's what writers do.

Drowning

I've had a major case of writer's block.

And since the only thing I can think to write about it is a Matt Nathanson song, that's what I'm going to do, though it feels like cheating to use someone else's words.

"Come on Get Higher" has some amazing lyrics, but the line that sticks with me is "drown me in love." Because drown is what I feel like I've been doing for a year--drowning in love, in the past, in self, in despair, in emotion, in life. And as I approached my 33rd birthday--which was last Monday--I decided I didn't want to drown anymore. It's been a year, and I've grown tired of the excess. Love no longer feels like drowning. It's more like a warm, cozy blanket, wrapping me in safety and comfort and security. New normalcy.