There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you
I stopped writing several years ago. It wasn't a big deal, it just wasn't there. The waters stood still so to speak. Looking back, there came a point in time where I had nothing to say. Not that I did before - touché - but I didn't enjoy writing if I felt like I needed to post for the sake of posting.
Today, we exist - I wish I could say "live" - in an era where posts are forced. Social media used to be a destination, today it exists as an avenue. Be it Instagram, Facebook, whatever. I would say blogs as well but in this circle of life, it's easier now to short post on IG than it is to write a blog. Not too long ago, blogs evolved from diary and journal entries to opinion pieces to "scientific" regurgitations. There was a lot of cut and paste. No shortage of references, simply a shortage of thought.
To each their own. But for me, the ink ran dry.
I learned a lot over the last decade. I learned how to chase. And I learned first hand the effects of "the chase." It was a decade of accumulation. One where in the first half of the decade my thoughts and opinions were shared along the way. In the second half, all I had were thoughts. It got to me.
Some use the phrase #alwayslearning. Again to each their own. I prefer sometimes learning. And sometimes living. Sometimes thinking. And sometimes reflecting. Sometimes relaxing.
And sometimes writing. I guess.
I think we can learn a lot from each other. Especially when we openly share our thoughts and opinions. But I think we need to be more honest with ourselves and actually have thoughts and opinions of our own. We need not be afraid to be wrong. More often than not we're almost right. But be ourselves we must.
If the above is indicative of anything, it is this: My mind is spinning, bordering on gibberish. And the urge to write is there. Maybe it's to organize my thoughts. Possibly to solidify my opinions. Regardless, it is there. For me.
I knew this day would come.