I broke my ankle a few weeks ago. Playing soccer. Had surgery and now I'm non-weight bearing for six weeks. You'd think one of the only benefits of having a broken ankle is inherently more time for reading, editing, and writing. Right?
And technically that's true. I can't really do anything, other than sit on my bum, so it's a perfect time to work. The editing mojo is still there (always love editing for the Cookie Lynn clients.) But I just don't have the desire to write. And I think I've figured out why.
I just don't feel like myself right now. At all.
It's not remotely comfortable to write in my usual places (Cafes, Starbucks, etc). I don't have the same energy. Eating and sleeping habits are way off. My independence is hanging on by a thread. The list goes on and on.
But I'm not naive. I'm going to feel slightly not myself, slightly broken, many times over the course of life. Things will happen that will alter the way I feel about myself, the way I look at the world.
In the end, these events will most likely enhance my work, giving me a broader range of experiences and emotions to draw from. But while I'm going through it, it's hard. I just can't let it stop me completely. I need to give myself a bit of time to process, to figure out how writing and editing fits into this new life, and then run with it.
Because it can always fit. Sometimes we just have to force it a bit.
So I vow through December (the rest of my non-weight bearing time) to write, no matter how strange it feels, perhaps uncomfortable.
Who knows, maybe this slightly different version of me, is a slightly better writer.