Timey wimey reboot.
I missed writing. I messed up writing.
In between set formats, tasks and work, my voice was lost in what others' expectations did to me. It didn't have to, but I stopped writing. Personal became academic, professional became rambling, readable story telling became incomprehensible word production. I became a slave to formats, yet could not adhere to any of them.
Now, this is an attempt to reboot my writing. ("Have you tried turning it off and back on again?")
This is the back on. Let's see if it actually starts up and works this time.
Life happened and I have no idea how to keep track of time anymore. It either slips by quietly and before you know it, you're five years later with no way of telling how you got there. Your new fancy outfit is suddenly grey and bought in... hm... was it 2012? In other areas of life, time seems to stand still and you keep treading the same paths into trenches. Afraid to leave or stuck despite of efforts to get away.
Big leaps: I finished and have a paper that says PhD (How? No idea, but according to my calendars it took me 6,5 years. Yet I started both in a past life and yesterday.) I have a child. It was a struggle and a long time coming, yet he has clearly been with us always since I can no longer imagine what life was like before. I live in a house where nothing gets done and everything is a mess, but at the same time we've painted every room, built a workshop and a chicken coop as well as flooring on both barn lofts for storage...
I just started a new job. It is more of the same really, yet in completely new, yet familiar, settings. I used to be a researcher hovering above, observing and contemplating events. I stepped down to become a doer, and stepped up to the challenge of getting things done. Familiar setting, yet in a brand new way. Exhilarating. Daunting.
I knit. For my sake. No longer the networking, outgoing knitter I was. It has become my personal and private refuge and I almost don't even want to share my stitches with knitting friends. Again this duality of comfort and discomfort simultaneously. So proud that I am taking care of my needs, staying in my bubble when I have trouble getting out or letting people in. Yet, longing for that social butterfly I was known as. I crave safety, yet miss the thrill. But I still knit. I still feel I found my medium for self solace and soul mending. It is in yarn.
There. Time is playing tricks on me, but I have now rebooted. This was written quickly and without planning nor ambitions of quality. It is like pressing the gas pedal without shifting into gear, tentatively after a sudden stall. Wrooom wrooom... It seems to work right?
In between set formats, tasks and work, my voice was lost in what others' expectations did to me. It didn't have to, but I stopped writing. Personal became academic, professional became rambling, readable story telling became incomprehensible word production. I became a slave to formats, yet could not adhere to any of them.
Now, this is an attempt to reboot my writing. ("Have you tried turning it off and back on again?")
This is the back on. Let's see if it actually starts up and works this time.
Life happened and I have no idea how to keep track of time anymore. It either slips by quietly and before you know it, you're five years later with no way of telling how you got there. Your new fancy outfit is suddenly grey and bought in... hm... was it 2012? In other areas of life, time seems to stand still and you keep treading the same paths into trenches. Afraid to leave or stuck despite of efforts to get away.
Big leaps: I finished and have a paper that says PhD (How? No idea, but according to my calendars it took me 6,5 years. Yet I started both in a past life and yesterday.) I have a child. It was a struggle and a long time coming, yet he has clearly been with us always since I can no longer imagine what life was like before. I live in a house where nothing gets done and everything is a mess, but at the same time we've painted every room, built a workshop and a chicken coop as well as flooring on both barn lofts for storage...
I just started a new job. It is more of the same really, yet in completely new, yet familiar, settings. I used to be a researcher hovering above, observing and contemplating events. I stepped down to become a doer, and stepped up to the challenge of getting things done. Familiar setting, yet in a brand new way. Exhilarating. Daunting.
I knit. For my sake. No longer the networking, outgoing knitter I was. It has become my personal and private refuge and I almost don't even want to share my stitches with knitting friends. Again this duality of comfort and discomfort simultaneously. So proud that I am taking care of my needs, staying in my bubble when I have trouble getting out or letting people in. Yet, longing for that social butterfly I was known as. I crave safety, yet miss the thrill. But I still knit. I still feel I found my medium for self solace and soul mending. It is in yarn.
There. Time is playing tricks on me, but I have now rebooted. This was written quickly and without planning nor ambitions of quality. It is like pressing the gas pedal without shifting into gear, tentatively after a sudden stall. Wrooom wrooom... It seems to work right?
Comments
Post a Comment