Here I go again...

I know, Whitesnake. 

It is finally summer break. The hardest teaching year so far is behind me and I have saved up enough money to make it through the summer without working. I need this break to rest, to stay home, and to work on creating new curriculum for next year. I am setting a goal for myself to take at least an hour a day to write, be it in my journal, right here in the blog, or on my creative nonfiction piece that one day will become a book. But for now I need to carve out this time in my day and focus on the practice of creating. If one were to scroll through previous blog posts one might see that I have set this goal before. I have it in my habit tracker, and each night I go to sleep without checking off the box next to "journal." Even though I could merely write a few sentences to be able to check off the box, I still manage to ignore the deep need to write. Why?

"I don't know where I'm going, / but I sure know where I've been / hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday, / an' I've made up my mind. I ain't wasting no more time"  (David Coverdale / Bernie Marsden).

Can one be an expert at wasting time? I may just be the poster child for the art of deflection and procrastination. I have put parental controls on Facebook for just this reason. But I know that once I create a routine around a certain habit I am good to go. Each and every morning I wake up, feed all of the critters with whom I reside, meditate, stretch, run, stretch, and head out the door to work. Every Sunday I create meals for the upcoming week. Before bed I meditate again. So it is not really a stretch to add five minutes of journaling into my day. But I don't. Because it feels good. Because the act of writing soothes my soul, calms me down, fills me with hope, and connects me to something much grander than my mind can fathom. It's just too good for me and so I do not do it. But, here I go again. 

Whitesnake sings, "Like a drifter I was born to walk alone." Writing is a solitary practice, yes, but the process of sharing one's writing brings the act from a solitary experience to a communal one. I do not know who reads this, if anyone, but as I sit here with an imaginary audience I am connected. And that is where the fulfillment comes into play. I connect to the solitary experiences of others within this act of allowing words to appear on the screen. I am part of a larger community of writers, of readers, and of seekers. I feel that I am not alone. And maybe that is why I struggle to sit here and write. There is something familiar about being stuck. It is safe here by myself. Nobody can criticize me. Just for today I am going to step into the community because "I ain't wasting no more time." So here we are and here I go again. Hopefully I will be at the blank screen again tomorrow.