It is already the middle of September,
and the below seasonal temperatures here in Toronto make it feel like we have
stepped fully into fall. Have you noticed how the days have already become
shorter with the sun rising later and setting earlier? I don’t feel ready to
let go of summer, yet, in just over a week, summer will officially end, fall
eagerly waiting to take its place.
And as fall approaches, I am
trying, desperately, to sure up my footing. Again. I am, daily, trying to
bunker down and focus, strip procrastination of its power over me. Perhaps I’m
being a bit dramatic but it feels like 2014 has been my “Year of
Procrastination” instead of my “Year of Positivity.” It’s not the writing that
feels uphill. The difficult part has been getting to the page — sitting down to write
without being distracted by social media, TV, the goings-on on the street below
(I live in a colourful neighbourhood). I have been tempted, really tempted, to chuck it all — Facebook, Twitter, my
blog — believing
that that “tossing away” will exorcise procrastination from my life. However, once
I sit down to write, once I’m in that “zone,” the writing flows. And I feel
like myself again.
What I’ve realized is that, since
I’ve been in Toronto, I don’t feel like I have a room of my own. I haven’t found that place — a cafĂ©, public library, a park — where I can, if just
for a short time, cut myself off from the world and be at one with my writing. I
don’t feel productive, like I’m
advancing. I can’t see my progress
clearly. I don’t have a regular writing routine. My current day job does make
writing regularly a challenge, but I do my best, still, to write every day (or
almost every day).
Despite the challenges, despite
not having a room of my own, I’m holding on, holding on to hope, to the desire
to write that carries me. I’m holding on to the long-term view. Holding on to
hope, I am grateful for the friends, my believing mirrors, who support and
encourage me. Langston Hughes counselled that we, “Hold fast to dreams, for if
dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.”
Today, I’m holding on.
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