As the urge to write more has eaten at me lately, I found myself thinking about why I stopped writing in the first place. It was an attempt to remember if my reasons for doing so were valid then, and are still valid now, and to figure out what has changed in my life between the time I didn't want to do it anymore and now.
I had never really articulated why I stopped at the time, and it was partially because I couldn't really put it all together, and partially because I didn't care anymore and I didn't think anyone else did either. What I've retroactively diagnosed in the course of my belated blog post-mortem is a confluence of building self-conciousness about the degree to which I was exposing my thoughts and identity, declining interest, and, most importantly, other outlets for my thoughts, time, energy, and passion.
So what's different now? I think any strides I've made in maturity, savviness, and caution mitigate a lot of my overexposure concerns. Working in communications has taught me the value of holding one's proverbial cards close to one's proverbial vest. Maybe it hasn't exactly taught me how to do so just yet, but the extra layers of self-awareness at whatever level of effectiveness have helped in shaping my thoughts into expressions I am more comfortable broadcasting.
As to outlets - not being in college anymore has greatly reduced the amount of demands - good and bad - on my attention.
I don't have papers to write, projects to design, or assignments to complete during my "free" time, which is, by a wide margin, the best part about not being in school anymore. For the first time since I was 10, my time is MINE. The time between 5PM (on good days) and 9AM the next day (or, even better, next Monday) is so precious to me, I even try not to spend it being bitter at all the time I wasted doing mostly pointless schoolwork. I am no longer burnt out by the writing demands of my classes, and ready to enjoy writing again, and write for the sake of writing.
As pleasurable as it's been learning how to spend copious amounts of time unburdened by parasitic scholarly obligations, it's been - conversely - just as difficult adjusting to not being with my closest friends on anywhere near the basis I was at school. I was thinking the other day how funny it was that someone who grew up in New York City and has lived there for his whole life (with some exceptions) would miss the most - out of everything in college - such a fundamentally small town value of having nearly everyone important to you within a five-minute radius. It's amazing how four years being a part of a small, insular community can turn having to take two subways through two boroughs for close to an hour to see your friends from a tolerable fact of life to a massive inconvenience.
The burden of being on the receiving end of my thoughts, opinions and rants fell to the people around me as I phased out my habit of writing. And, now, as spending time with my friends has become a matter of making and executing plans rather than a constant state of being around, I find myself turning to writing again as a means of unloading.
So I guess what I'm saying is this writing kick boils down to more time plus more caution plus fewer opportunities to express myself. Not a really flattering scenario from writing's standpoint. "Well, I'm bored and my friends are 45 minutes away. I guess I'm mature enough to feel safe writing what I'm thinking" wouldn't exactly be a really catchy slogan for a pro-writing campaign.
Despite this appearance of writing as my last expressive resort, I am actually happy to be engaging this dormant, once-hyperactive corner of my mind again. Writing had been a big part of my life since high school, and was the foundation for a lot of good things in my life. I took a much-needed, and inevitable break, and I think I will emerge a better, saner, more complete writer and person for doing so. We'll see how long this new kick lasts.
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