Me, myself and writing

Here I am, sitting at my desk, trying to write something for the seventh time this week. I am supposed to write my first blog post ever. Instead, the only thought that keeps crossing my mind is that I hate writing. And whether the nuance of my new nail polish is aligned with the person I want to become. These two thoughts only are inhabiting my brain: that I hate writing and that the peachy pink nuance of Chanel’s number 564 « Sea whip » nail polish was too much of a comfort-zone choice this Spring.

I hate writing.

I can’t help thinking of how horrifying it is right now to write. So much so that this seems to be the only thing I can write today. Let’s just write it down then.

I hate writing.

Gosh, I wish it were easier. Much much easier. Writing, I mean. I wish writing could be easier. Usually this is what people say about life. I wish it were easier. It’s no surprise that life is hard. I knew it. Especially, they say « adulting » is hard. Hard isn’t even the right term. Nebulous. Rather nebulous. I just looked at the Oxford dictionary and checked whether « nebulous » can be used also in English to describe vaguely defined concepts. It can. I didn’t make up something from Italian this time. Now I can boldly say that « adulting » is a nebulous business. That’s why I have been preparing myself for « adulting » by reading the loads of self-help books stacked next to my bed.

Well, that was a lie. I don’t have a stack of self-help books next to my bed. The wannabe artistic side of me wants to give the impression that I am that kind of person who can comfortably sleep surrounded by books without having nightmares. I am not. My books are meticulously stored on a dedicated shelf at the top of my Ikea Pax wardrobe. They lay down on their front side so that the title on the spine can be read effortlessly. But they are indeed self-help books, that’s true!

What was I saying… Oh! Writing, yes. Hate writing. I though words would flow out of my pen so naturally, as if I was born to do this. Instead, this moment is so painful that I can barely keep myself from throwing this stupid pen against the wall of my room. Not a keyboard. I am kind of an old-fashioned gal who writes down on paper the first version of basically anything. Important mails, math formulas, birthday messages (for both physical birthday cards and digital messages on Amazon for gifts), abstracts and introductions of papers, dedications on books, and grocery shopping lists. The idea is to transfer later the grocery shopping list later to Todoist, because this is the app that successful entrepreneurs and marketing gurus on Youtube supposedly use to organize their lives. I did it only once and then switched back to my usual piece of paper ripped out of a sheet of attempted math proofs.

By the way, I am not even at my desk any more. It’s another day actually. I’m currently sipping fresh mint tea in a bar while resisting the temptation to eat the cookie that came along with it because it’s a « no-carbs » day today. Maybe sitting outside and enjoying the warm day can give me some inspiration to carry on with this blog post. I have been dreaming about having a blog for half a year now and have collected more than a hundred ideas for posts just in the last two months. And yet, whenever I sit my butt on the damn chair, all of a sudden I feel the impulse to run away. Or to do fifty squats and thirty push-ups. (Kidding, I can only do ten push-ups.) Or to clean the window, iron the socks, bake a cake and unleash the desperate housewife within. Or to just bask in a beautiful space filled with self-doubt and low self-esteem that make me question the very desire of having a blog. Who’s gonna read my shit anyway?!

I know exactly what I’ve been through. Resistance. As Steven Pressfield puts it, Resistance is a force that human beings experience whenever they want to create something. If you just think about putting yourself out there, Resistance will push you back in your room and encourage you to binge on Youtube (I don’t have Netflix). I imagined Resistance wouldn’t have been so harsh on me. I know it exists, I’ve read many self-help books about it (ouch! maybe that was also Resistance), and I write almost every day for my job anyway. Why couldn’t I handle it any better? I guess it will take time. Well, I hope it is only a matter of time! Now that I’m approaching the end of this blog post, I realize what Britney Spears meant with her song Me Against the Music. I fought with writing and I defeated Resistance for today. I understand now and I can proudly say, « I hear you, Britney! »

Are you in survival mode?