Maybe tomorrow

Most days I have intentions of sitting down to write a blog post or to dabble in my offline writing notebooks.

Then I get up early and I get lost down on the beach walking longer than I expected to, or I try to get some housework in before work.

Or I sleep in until the last possible second before planting myself in front of my computer...take a long walk at lunch and sit outside instead...put my computer away at the end of the workday, unable to look at it for another minute and desperate to get outside for some air.

Sometimes I have a minute but I'm not sure what I want to write about or the words don't come. The first time I remember that happening was when I was working on my Young Authors submission in first grade. If I was in Philly, I'd dig that baby out and put a picture right in here for you.

I  hate that feeling and I always have, because what it feels like is failing at something you know how to do. And when it happens many days in a row, it feels like losing something about yourself, losing an instinct, that you think will come back if you work hard enough even though creative blocks have very little to do with hard work.

I saw something from Glennon Doyle on Instagram Sunday: "I have not written a word during quarantine. Just a reminder to worried artists - there are times for creating and times for becoming the person who will create the next thing. For many of us, this is a becoming time. Rest and become. Love you."

I felt that deep in my bones. Every ounce of creativity I have in reserve has gone to my job, because I'm getting paid to do that. My personal creativity, I'm just watering and feeding her for now. If you are having trouble creating in your way of creating right now - there are so many of you out there who are creators in some way but don't consider yourself as such - I hope you know resting and becoming are not failures at what you know how to do. They're preparing you for what you'll create next.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. But definitely again.