Living In The Drafts

I am not sure what is to be grieved more: the lack of writing because of the lack of inspiration or the lack of writing when inspiration hits?

What I have come to learn about myself is that I can write if it feels like my heart will lurch out of my chest if I don’t. When I do not have this anxious feeling, I sit in silence. I have ideas roll over in my mind, but they remain in the Drafts section. No matter what you consider yourself – a writer, sometimes-blogger, “ideator” – the Drafts section is like the graveyard of ideas. They sit idle and lonely, mostly forgotten.

All that to say, and what I really mean to get at, is that I’ve been living in the Drafts. I am not producing more than a spurge of thoughts under the direction of a regular heartbeat. If I so desire to write, I have to feel it; I have to believe in what I am writing. But what I also understand is that it is important to get it out, no matter the feeling.

Well, wait. Can we just hang onto the word “feeling” for a second? What if, lately, I haven’t felt what I have felt in the past? I feel like a subdued version of myself, and I don’t mean this in a manner that spells out depression, but more of a shift that has taken place. As in, something is off. This, in return, seems to alter my radar towards writing about even the most passionate of subjects. I am such a seeker to right the wrongs. Because this sense of off, I have felt a general disconnection.

Going through this Lenten season and noticing this shift has been interesting. It is as if I have been exposed to what will hold my footing ahead, so I tread lightly and questionably. Quite honestly, this has mostly applied to community. If you have kept up with my writing, there is a hint of sadness as friends leave in pursuit of the new. Oddly (and thankfully), I am not alone in this disconnected feeling. I have had many conversations surrounding this notion of off-ness, and now I am beginning to question what it means.

As I do, I am prayerful and hopeful that the Lord will guide. It is a paradox, but I do not feel alone in the disconnection. There may be a shift occurring around me and others, but I do not feel like the Lord has taken His sovereign hand away. While this disconnectedness has quieted that inner inspiration to write, it has also taught me to think this life through more thoughtfully and slowly.

There is significance in silence and waiting in the chasm-like feeling. The Drafts section is intimidating, but maybe its sole purpose is to remind me that, as much as I desire to, not everything has to have words put to it.

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