Over the past few months I was going to write about a lot of things.
- I was going to describe the time I was stopped in the city, by a guy who thought I was an art student. I was going to compare how the conversation went in my head, to how it went in reality. (Hint, in my own head I’m super cool. In real life? Not so much.)
- I was going to tell you about my Biscuit Butter Theory.
- I was going to tell you about the person who eats Skittles when he goes running, but has to remove the purple ones because he finds the flavour too distracting. (No joke.)
- I was going to find some deeply poetic way to talk about being awake all night. (Drafted on the night that I was – funnily enough – awake all night.)
- I was going to describe the time a stranger’s tattoo genuinely stopped me from crying.
- There was going to be an extended metaphor for drinking whiskey.
- I was going to tell you – with literally no exaggeration – how in one day there was a birth, a wedding, two sick relatives, and the uncovering of an eighteen year old family secret.
- I was going to explain exactly what it is I’ve been doing all this time. (I might still do that last one.)
Really, there’s been no shortage of inspiration for me. I had a whole bunch of wonderful things I was going to write about.
I didn’t actually write about any of them.
I kept looking back and feeling a little guilty about it.
I felt like I should have written about these things. Not necessarily because I wanted to memorialise any of them, but because it would at least be something that people could see. And I thought that if I went too long without writing things that people can see they will seriously start to wonder what I’m doing. They might even think I’ve given up. Or that I’ve failed. (They clearly wouldn’t know me.)
Then I had a word with myself.
(I do this a lot.)
And I realised that feeling guilty about things that I didn’t do – that would have only ever been for other people’s benefit in the first place – is a big waste of time.
And time is very precious to me, because – while it’s not visible right now – I am very busy working on something very special.
(It’s killing me to keep it secret, but I have it under very good authority that the best things come to those who wait.)
So, yes, my New Years cleanse has started a little early. And thankfully it doesn’t involve drinking some variety of green juice.
It simply involves letting go of a bunch of ideas, and deleting a load of drafts, that I never truly cared about in the first place.
(Yes, I appreciate that the whole idea of writing about not writing is massively ironic. It was never intentional.)