Writing has always felt like a integral part of my identity. As a child, I wrote stories and songs constantly, and imagined my future as a famous author. In my teens, my writing became a way for me to express my typical teenage angst, giving me a relatively productive way to channel my emotions without turning into a moody mess.
But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve found myself writing less and less, and the reason behind it feels kind of difficult to deal with.
I have never been so happy in my life. Sure, I still get moody and anxious and upset, but overall I feel really satisfied with my life (as satisfied as a young 20-something still studying can be). Obviously, this is a good thing. I’ve never had a clinical mood disorder, but I wasn’t the happiest of teenagers, and spent much of those years feeling like I was waiting for my life to start. So I’m really happy that, for the past couple of years, I’ve been feeling like everything is coming together. I still crave change and challenge and adventure, but I finally feel like I’m happy with the path I’m on.
But with this happier state of mind, it feels like writing has been less and less important to me. And now I’m wondering if the whole “writing is in my bones” thing isn’t actually my truth. Maybe I can only write when I’m unhappy or dissatisfied? Maybe I don’t have anything to say anymore? I’d like to blame it on university – I’m constantly writing essays and reports which need to be informative and concise, which in turn makes them incredibly dry – but I feel like that’s a cop-out.
This is by no means a complaining post. As I said, I am happier than I have ever been. But realising that something I thought was part of me is maybe not as integral as I thought – it’s a strange feeling. I guess I’m trying to figure out whether I’ve lost my voice, or whether I need to spend some time finding it.