I really miss writing.
Sure, I’m writing copy and I love my job, and I’m active on social media platforms, but that’s more like talking.
What I miss is taking these long intro-and-extraspective rambles through my own thoughts and conclusions; it’s been too long. But this is probably the best way through writer’s block: getting to the place where you’re so hungry for it, when all the distractions start to annoy you, and you wish everyone would just go home so that you can write.
It has been over a year -feels more like a decade; the whole world has changed since then.
It turns out there’s no way to fast-track grief. Your mind and soul heal at their own speed – like losing baby teeth or sprouting breasts: it has absolutely nothing to do with your own schedule. One moment you’re running around on the lawn topless and unashamed, and the next moment you’re hunched over in a huge T-shirt feeling as if the world is one giant and lidless eye, focusing only on you. Grief’s like that: today you have it all together, tomorrow you find your heart racing and someone’s rushing you to hospital for an EEG. I’m okay, don’t panic – I just wasn’t on that day.
The problem is that you don’t get a 365-day time-out to process the loss of 3 family members in one year. You have to engage with the rest of the planet: you have to think, produce, plan, communicate and interact.
While I was trying to re-align to the new orbit of my family solar system, I was living in a country that tests all the bounds of love, anger, faith and disbelief; I was living in a world that kept threatening to unravel; I was feeling the heat of solar flares and having my eyelashes rippled by the wind of passing asteroids – whales were throwing themselves onto beaches, various countries were choosing to maintain their erections with pillaged African wildlife, and there were days when it seemed as if the entire world was just screaming at itself.
But I kept on walking through the hours of my days, slowly getting stronger. I can’t say that I understand the still-evolving map of my life, but I can walk without falling off the edge. And I can stop to write, to talk – to make lame jokes and dire puns, and to laugh at them.
Tomorrow we start talking about all the big things.