I've been in a bit of a fog lately.
Said goodbye. Moved across the country. Said hello to a new life.
A dense and disorienting fog.
And maybe it was a symptom of being lost in the fog or maybe it was partly the cause of it, but I stopped writing along the way.
Not all together though. There have been snippets, little bits of rhyming words scribbled in journals, unconnected thoughts hurriedly typed into an iPhone only to be mangled beyond recognition by auto-correct, and there has been work.
But there hasn't been much of the writing that keeps me healthy, this kind of stuff.
Writing keeps my head above water. Gives me the chance to breathe. Helps me see the early warning signs of trouble, the shark fins when they start swirling.
Partly, I just haven't been disciplined enough.
Mostly, I like to write when the writing won't be painful.
See, I've been finding my way in new surroundings with new rhythms, new expectations, and new relationships. And nothing is bad about that. In fact, it's been a real adventure the kind we all secretly hope for. But this fog has me making lots of circles and not really getting anywhere.
Writing now means I have to write from a place of not-figured-out-ness. Uncertainty. I'm in the middle of learning without having actually gotten to "learned." That's not a comfortable place from which to write.
But God keeps jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow, reminding me that one of the disservices I do to others, to parenthood, to leadership, to the creative process, faith, and even myself is the perpetuation of the facade that I have it all figured out.
When I look in the mirror and begin to posture, pretend, or flee I rob myself of the chance to grow, and I cease giving others the chance to relate to me, know me, and grow through my experiences along with me. To grow I have to take the time to stare at myself in the mirror, poking at and pondering over what I see there. For me that means taking time to write.
A lot has happened in the last six months, and a lot of it is sitting in my mental inbox—untouched, unprocessed, and un-wrestled with.
I'm determined to begin writing again, to will the sun to rise and burn off all this damned fog. I've decided I'm going to write every single day even though not everything is pretty right now. Not all of that writing will become public, but more of it might.
Some of my writing will be about what is new and current. Some will just be me playing catch-up to the things I should have seen before.
Every. Single. Day.