yesterday i took a day off from writing so that i could join the rest of the world and binge tiger king. it would be a lie to say that i intended for this to happen. i woke up like any other morning, with the intention to begin my day with writing. but bit by bit, motion by motion, i watched myself allow other tasks to cut in line. before i knew it, i was deep in my old habits of scouring washington post articles and writing emails that are way too wordy (i’ve learned over the years that long-winded emails are my creative voice’s squeal to be let out).
what’s encouraging is that, throughout the day, i never stopped thinking about writing. i actually spent much more time thinking about it than i do when i just get it out of the way in the morning. it’s a long cry from just a few weeks ago, when opening up my thoughts to a page felt awkward, when the guilt of not writing like i used to was just a numbness that i went to bed with each night.
yesterday’s sensation was a sharpness, like a joint that needed to be snapped back in place. but it wasn’t a guilt. writing again today, i’m feeling grateful for renewed habits, for the liberation that comes with knowing that the core of my being is being regularly replenished. it made guilty pleasures like tiger king feel all the more sanctified.