I’ve tried to write a dozen times. But my opinions on topics don’t last 500 words. I don’t know how to say what I think. I don’t know what I think. I’m in a new stage, new position, new town. I don’t know who or how I am in this new situation. I don’t know my voice. I don’t know what I think.
I don’t see my mountains every day.
It’s not quite depression. It’s not quite anxiety, although both of those are not strangers. It’s not quite uncertainty, as I have found my routine and am settling in. Perhaps it is certainty itself. The transiency of school is gone. My goals are becoming longer term. Which means my choices seem to weigh more. Words are heavy. I’m getting better at doing things, but worse at pondering about them.
I’ve decided to attempt NaNoWriMo again this year (first time since before grad school). Maybe that will help me get my words back, even if it’s still away from this blog. I don’t want to force myself to write, but apparently I need to. After all, being an adult is doing the things one ought to do, whether one wants to or not.
I get to visit my mountains soon.