I haven’t posted for a couple of months, after a flurry of activity and article writing in September.
My absence, I’m sure, was not really noticed. But that ever-widening gap between the present moment and my last release threatened to drag me under more than once.
Until today, that is, when I finally mustered the willpower to put phalanges to keyboard and pump something readable out.
But it’s like that sometimes. Even though writing is a creative outlet, it’s just one of the many ways to express yourself. And rarely can you channel your creativity when you’re in an environment or a situation that stifles your rhythm. It’s the reason why artists are so notoriously difficult to manage. They need things to be perfect so they can produce what they’re born to do.
Me? Well, I’m definitely not an artist. Nor am I particularly creative. But I enjoy the process of creating things, whether it’s stories or photos or scribbles on a notepad. That being said, I still feel like there’s a certain headspace I need to be in to work well. Some call this a state of flow. I just call it feeling content. And this feeling of contentment always comes about when I have routine.
Unfortunately, routine has eluded me for the last two months, due to a complicated living space and a broken collarbone that made sleeping a nightmare and typing only marginally better.
Now though, I’ve made it to Portugal and I can feel myself slowly unwinding; creating a bit of space to get busy and write. I’m not going to rush it and I won’t get down on the fact I still have a month or so before I can surf again.
But it’s nice to finally feel like I'm starting to get my shit together.