2016 has been strange, despite the fact that it’s only been 10 days. It started out on a low note and it hasn’t gotten much higher. Already it feels like whatever goals I made will become unachievable and I’ll be doomed to repeat the cycle over again. Sounds like a great year, right?
Usually the slump comes sometime in mid-year after the excitement of new goals has worn off and real life has imposed itself rather rudely. Real life has upped its game this year and come in swinging. This leaves us downtrodden before we’ve even begun. It’s not so easy to pick yourself up after that and get back to business.
Picking up and getting back to it, however, is what people do. It’s what writers do, after those month-long stints of nothing when writing feels like a chore, like every word has to be yanked from your fingers and put onto the page. Then once it’s on the page, it’s a jumbled mess until you manage to sort it out again.
It’s the sorting that takes the longest.
So hello January and hello to the problems that don’t go away with a new year. Every year, we pretend things are going to change. We’re going to write that novel or lose that weight or eat better. And we do. For about a month. Then we remember why we don’t stick with it in the first place and how much easier it is to drink a soda or watch TV instead of write. Humans are naturally lazy and unless we get some kind of motivation, we usually stay that way.
The new year is supposed to be our motivation but somehow, it just doesn’t stick. There has to be a bigger purpose to our actions, a better reason for doing what we do (or stopping doing something). That’s something we (I) have to find. So far, this year, I haven’t found it. It’s out there, I know it, but slogging through to get there could take quite a while.