I feel like I want to write something but I have no idea what to write. Not that I’m short of ideas, but feeling a little torn.
Do I write about my wonderful camping trip and all the wildlife I witnessed – the bat’s, the swallows, the rabbits, the moths and butterflies? Do I write about the moon rising behind a hill like a pearl unveiled in an oyster shell, the sunsets, the stargazing, the meteors and satellites passing by and the awe they inspired?
Or do I write about how fearful and sad I am at the current state of the world – war, drought; useless politicians that are just people with an inordinate amount of power and seemingly nothing to lose; utter frustration that there are people with plentiful ideas and ingenuity that have very little power at all; the cost of living; the loss of focus on climate change even though our worst fears are staring us right in the face now? Should I write about the joy of being away from the news for a time and pretending it wasn’t happening, or the guilt I feel for burying my head in the sand (almost literally) for a few days? Do I write about the empathy for those less for fortunate and the action I want to take to help, or gush with gratitude for my security, the health of my family and friends? Do I write about how wonderful to go away with friends, yet how much I am yearning for solitude?
I believe it’s better to say ‘I don’t know what to say’ rather than not saying anything when not knowing what to say. So, in the spirit of that, this is what I’m doing.
There’s an awful lot to think about isn’t there?
N.B.
It occurred to me just after publishing this, another reason for sharing this: sometimes, when all these thoughts are stuck in my head, they all seem to cancel each other out so it seems I am thinking and feeling nothing at all. I don’t like that. Surely I am not lacking thoughts, feelings, opinions?
I hear people talk, read their posts, their expressing themselves, and I realise I could never feel so sure about anything, to express it so openly and in such a way, spontaneously, without caveats and parentheses and such.
Also, being so sensitive to the reception I receive when voicing something, combined with the anxiety about doing so, makes me wonder why I’d even bother. Why put the effort in, and why risk it? I used to agonise over my inability or unwillingness to share, pathologised it to some extent I guess, whereas now I feel more protective over it because I understand it better. I understand why I’d want to protect my innermost thoughts, and protect myself from anxiety and stress. Self care, and honouring the self, or something.
Anyway, this is my safe place for sharing.
Hmmm, turns out I had something to say after all. This is reminding me of how the most fruitful counselling sessions are often those that start with ‘I don’t know what to say’.
I do feel a little relief.
