This is harder than I thought
Meditations on the plan of not having a plan
I knew this exercise wasn’t going to be easy. The only thing I knew with conviction was that I wanted to write.
Naively, I would’ve never called it work.
If I wanted to become better at writing, I knew I had to do more of two things: reading and writing. I did recognize I needed to do a lot more, so I wasn’t entirely delusional. When this effort started in earnest in July 2023, I had not read or written anything beyond what my professional career required that year. I didn’t have the space to hold someone else’s story, nor did I have the strength to metabolize any of my own. That’s not meant as a dig at me. There was no way I could do any of that in the state I was in.
Now that I am not in a state of active emotional inflammation, I can get into the work of reading and writing. During this time, I’ve found myself an insatiable reader. I know that sounds dramatic, but it feels dramatic: there is so much to catch up on and not enough time. It feels chemical. It feels like osmosis. I was empty of other’s stories and now they’re rushing in.
My writing experience has been more bimodal. Sometimes it just pours out like reverse osmosis: I’ll get a prompt, something will surface, and it will claim space on the page. My fingers can’t move fast enough to get all the thoughts out. It feels good. It feels urgent.
But then there’s the other part. The part I knew would be hard, but not this hard. It’s what makes the work work. I’ve found myself procrastinating when the urgency muse leaves. I stop something halfway through. I’ll do it later. I don’t have to do it now now. That’s it, I need to spend more time reading to make sure I do this writing thing right. Do I actually need to write about that? Maybe the muse and her answers will come visit me after this 5th episode of Love is Blind?
What am I even doing here?
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I’ve spent my academic and professional career a meticulous and ambitious planner: I knew, needed to know, what was the step after the next step. I wouldn’t make it if I didn’t have a plan, or worse, I’d be giving up control of my own destiny. Someone else would decide my future for me. I wasn’t going to let that happen. I studied, researched, did the practice exams and cases. Terrified of not getting up the next rung of the ladder, I created a structure for myself to climb. Striving, always, to get ahead. I thought myself a shark and stopping would mean death.
It was a necessary way of life until it wasn’t. I couldn’t immolate myself further to get up the next rung. I had to get off that ladder entirely.
This is the first time my main productive endeavor is purely guided by vibes. There is no master plan and that makes it hard to feel like I am moving forward and being productive. How do I hold myself accountable without a timeline or milestones? Should I be making a plan?
Part of me has enjoyed loosening the calendar and floating with the spontaneity of the day. I’ve given myself the permission (and very gratefully gotten the support) to be in this situation. I’ve realized I’m not a shark and going slower doesn’t mean I’m going to die. I know it won’t be forever. I hope it won’t be forever. That part of me that hopes this state isn’t eternal knows that I am a person who thrives in structure. I’m a climbing plant that needs a trellis. Some structure is necessary for survival. As an anxious creature by nature, I don’t thrive in complete ambiguity. I’m testing the middle ground of living by a project plan versus being completely que será, será. How does one hold oneself accountable and give oneself space? That’s the needle I’m trying to thread.
I can’t say I know exactly what that looks like. I know that answer will change from space to space. It will change depending on how much control I have in each space. I can’t control when I’ll re-enter the 9-to-5 world, but I can control if I sit myself in front of an unfinished essay at least once a day.
Here’s what I’m going to try to do with this space: write something here at least every two weeks. I’m going to try that structure as a tool to keep myself honest and hold myself accountable. I’m still not sure what the material will look like, but something will be here. Hope you can make it.
Now… I have to finish this season of Love is Blind.
I never really read much until was nearly 38. Then I couldn't get enough. I started writing shortly after and still struggle to write when not feeling zealous about it. I used to have a rule: If I wasn't writing, I had to be reading. Actually, I still have that rule. But I fall into the trap sometimes, too, where I think, If I read more, I’ll figure out what to write next. Then I procrasti-read. There is just too much to read and not enough time.
So many delicious phrases in this piece. The one that stood out to me the most, though, was you no longer being in a "state of active emotional inflammation." Oof, I feel this. The work, THIS work, is hard; you're right. And it's so worth it, no? Hooray for loosening the calendar and allowing...whatever it is you want to allow. I'm here for it. See you every couple of weeks!