I’ve always taken pride in my own productivity. I’ve been secretly pleased with myself for juggling a full-time job, a busy family life and still keeping up a relatively demanding writing schedule. My inner workhorse is sturdy and reliable and makes me feel slightly smug and confident in my ability to do it all.
But we knoweth what goes before a fall. And the famous Proverb doesn’t have much nice to say about a haughty spirit either. And, so here I am—formerly haughty but definitely humbled now. Truth be told, I’ve barely written a word since late last spring, on this blog or anywhere else. When my alarm goes off at 4.45 am, I scarcely open even one eye. And if I do manage to drag myself out of bed and down to the tea kettle, more often than not, I end up reading the news or answering email.
It’s a dismal place to be. It makes me edgy and short-tempered. It makes me question my abilities, my vocation, my moral fortitude. Every morning, I give myself the “buck it up” speech, and yet. And yet. Still nothing. Despite my fiercest self-chastisements, I’m not writing more than three sentences at a time. Even a long email seems like more of a chore than I can handle.
It’s not what I would call writer’s block. I’m not blocked in the traditional sense of the word. In fact, I have a pile of projects that I am excited about and that are demanding my attention. Every day I think of something else that I would like to work on, that captures my imagination. But I can’t make myself really buckle down and focus. I can’t stay in the writing moment for more than just that, a moment.
So I guess it’s more like writer’s fritter. I have taken time-wasting, multi-tasking, and flitting from one thought to another and made them my spiritual practice. I am distractible, unfocused and undisciplined, and my workhorse is nowhere to be found.
I want to blame it on external forces – Twitter, caffeine, my children. But that’s not really true either. Yes, I spend way too much on Facebook—and I do drink a pot of coffee by myself—but those things were true last fall and last winter and the summer before that. And up to now, I have still been able to think two thoughts in a row.
So, I guess I am just left to examine my own new-found humility. I am called to kneel before the muse and beg her forgiveness for my ill-informed hubris. I am just going to have to wait it out and find a more effective speech. I’m going to have to use this time to do more dishes and keep the plants watered. To knit socks and look out the window. I’m guess I’m just going have to sit still and wait for my workhorse to come back in from grazing in the fields.
