its strange how something that was so central to your life can become optional
im thinking about writing. there was a time when writer was synonymous with my identity. there was a time when writing was the only thing that kept me alive. there was a time when i lived and breathed for the beauty of words. there was a time when words spilled out of my ears and eyes and skin.
of course i still write. i write everyday for at least one of my three english papers. i write texts to my love. i write through comments and posts on social media. im writing notes, essays, and lab reports.
i suppose i write now more for some other reason than writing itself. and thats whats changed. i dont write because i must write. i dont write so much to sound beautiful. but most of all, i dont feel this drive. i feel that writing is something that has become less and less a part of my life. when i think about it, i realise it is not so because ive never stopped. not at all. but i feel its become more about obligation than love.
so am i still a writer?
do i like to write? do i want to write? do i need to write?
does it matter?
of course it doesnt. it only matters for this tricky little thing called identity that i still havent quite grasped.
no it doesnt matter but i still wonder because how can i no longer be a writer when writing made life worth living? how can something that made life worth living suddenly become unessential?
how strange. how ephemeral
yet now im an english student. im someone who looks at the art of weaving words. if im not a writer, i write about being one and i write about what other people have written. i suppose now im on the outside.
im not sure how i feel about it
id love to get into writing again but i dont know if it gives me the same kind of feeling of magic and i miss it
so … like any other university student, im working a part time job in retail to pay for my rent and keep me alive while i study because student loans are not enough and besides i would prefer not to be in debt for the rest of my life …
i dont enjoy it. not at all. im working in a supermarket. sometimes packing salads and pricing meat has a certain satisfying monotony to it. greeting customers on loop? not so much. i remember my excitement during my first job but i think that was just the novelty of actually being paid to do something and the fact that my (future) boyfriend at the time worked there too.
im parttime. i work two days a week. its very manageable. but i cant help but admire every full timer who gets through 40 hours a week of this.
its funny how central a job is to a persons life. we spend five days a week working so we can live the other two days. it floors me how much time of our lives is spent … not really living.
or maybe not. maybe im wrong. maybe forty hours a week is not such a big price to pay to live. living is a pretty big thing, after all.
perhaps a better way to look at it is that our job is our way of contributing to society. which it indeed is. maybe its more a case of five days of living for someone other than yourself.
i suppose i just think that idealistic as it sounds, id like to work a job that i truly enjoy and truly feel passion for. i dont want to spend most of my waking hours not really feeling alive. i know there are always unpleasant jobs that someone will have to do but the goal is to make them take as little time as possible, right? With the advent of technology, we can do that more and more. and again though this may seem idealistic, wouldnt it be wonderful to have a world where we can all find a career path that sparks at least a little passion in us and dont have to work a soul sucking job?
when you describe who you are, you typically mention your name, your age, and your job. but if your career is so central to who you are, i think it should have your spirit