You know the feeling when you want to write but nothing comes to mind? I came across that feeling yesterday. There was the “want” to convert thoughts and ideas into words, but I ended up staring at the blinking cursor for an extended period of time until I finally threw in the towel and spent the evening driving cars in Gran Turismo like a madman with no knowledge of braking, and tennis with Maria Sharapova in Virtua Tennis.
I was reading my friend’s blog yesterday (which is new, he finally decided to go back to blogging again) and felt the excitement he had about just writing… which is actually an advice I’ve given him a couple of days ago. The thing is, I feel like I am not practicing what I have just preached. Yeah, I write. But not write in the sense that I can make fun of myself or the funny things I do—stuff I used to write about on my old blog.
I’m a very organized, responsible, disciplined girl ever since, so it’s not surprising that I exhibit the same qualities at work. After all, those are considered as strengths in the career realm. In the years I have been working, these characteristics have developed. I am not entirely sure with this realization I have, but here it is: work is getting in the way of my personal life in the sense that I sometimes adapt the tone (in writing) I use at work unconsciously and it’s slowly making its way in stuff I write for personal purposes.
I take this predicament very seriously.
I guess I’m just missing the no-frills (no-care?) approach in my old blog and possibly concerned that I might get used to the writing style I’m expected of at work. Before, I would write long dramatic entries addressed to someone (or even something!) in particular and either end up stringing numerous adjectives with giveaway phrases or situations, or simply type my thoughts with no hesitation. Ranting makes for good posts too. Rambling about dissatisfaction, dislike and disappointments come out as something genuine and sincere—some of the key factors which make for entertaining pieces. The same can be said for raves, except that happy moments take more time in writing because with such feelings, words are not enough.
Before, there was confidence behind each sentence, the kind that made me feel I had creative freedom in whatever I say. This does not mean that my “level” of confidence has dipped; I take most things as constructive criticism and I’m all for giving the best in every endeavor, I just have (crazy) high standards which keeps on getting significantly higher every now and then. That certainty I used to have has been replaced by being too conscious in things I do.
I guess another piece of advice I could give to those who enjoy and love writing is to write for yourself and not for others. Unless readers are the priority. Ohh, the blurred boundaries of writing for self-expression and writing as a job.
To sum it all up, this post is simply about silly, witty me having an INFP/INFJ personality dilemma. Kidding.