I’ve been mulling over this piece for a few weeks now. I just can’t seem to get the right words out. I’m not sure if it’s because I am too preoccupied at the moment or maybe because I have no real reason to be writing in the first place. By that I mean that I am not feeling any of the ‘negative’ feelings that usually drive me to smash on my keyboard at 2am. I haven’t written anything at all for a while, not even in my journal. I hadn’t even realised until someone mentioned my blog to me and then I was actually really shocked that I had neglected uploading something for so long. Obviously there have been distractions but that’s never been an excuse for me writing nothing at all. Where has my motivation gone?
The truth of the matter is that I have been happy (or at least content). When I am happy, I do not feel that I need to come and write – when I am happy, I just exist. It’s weird though because wouldn’t it be nice if I could put words to my ‘positive’ feelings? Believe me I’ve tried, but for some reason I’ve found it incredibly difficult. Writing in my journal is an attempt to help push me towards happiness so surely forgetting to write in it is a good thing? The goal of my journal is its own demise.
One possibility is that writing has unintentionally become a sad activity for me. Between my first draft and the final published piece comes a lot of self-criticism and hate filled editing. I almost have to tell myself the words aren’t good enough so that I can carve away at them, chiselling and refining my pieces. It works because at the end I tend to be proud of whatever I publish but the journey to that point is filled with self-doubt; doubt being integral to any creative endeavour. I’m hesitant to call it perfectionism because I am okay with flaws or errors, but it really is tricky sometimes.
So here I am, sitting at my desk being happy. Happiness is an outward projection, and it’s one that is often assumed to go hand in hand with ignorance; we even say ‘ignorance is bliss’ so the inverse must be true, that happy people are unaware of how sad they should be. A happy person is a simple person, not thinking about themselves, and any art they make or that is made in their image is inauthentic or sentimental. Why do we see happiness as this simple emotion, and sadness as this deep and complex one? Well, Sadness is inherently introspective, which of course lends itself to creativity. That’s why we think of the troubled artist, the doomed musician. I relate to this way of thinking, it certainly seems true because I am quite happy yet cannot write, but when I am sad I cannot stop writing.
I’d like to explore this idea further though. Is melancholy really more dignified than happiness? Does sorrow feel real because it is sincere and honest, and therefore happiness is an illusion? It takes more muscles for us to frown than smile, so is misery the result of our excess? It shouldn’t be something for us to aim for, it’s not a nice way to live. Without sadness I’m not sure who I am which is a little troubling. Furthermore, when I write something and decide it’s not good enough, I’m essentially telling myself that I am not good enough – if we are to believe my writing is a reflection of who I am of course.
Most of my writing concerns self-improvement, dealing with a problem that I can fix. There are actionable items with situations for me to walk through and deliberate upon. If my writings were about happy events, like celebrating something I’ve achieved recently, then where is the actionable item? What can I actually do when following on from a piece about falling in love? It would be like a movie with no plot progression or conflict, nothing more than a stale film where everyone is happy in their boring and shallow world. Isn’t it better when I write about heartbreak or depression, or the meaning of my life?
Anyway, it’s just something else for me to waste hours thinking about. When I’m happy I lose my drive, determination, ambition. It’s dangerous for me to be too happy, unless I can navigate it and work out a way to maintain my usual momentum without praying that I die in my sleep. When I am distraught, I can phone potential clients and write the best sales pitch. When I am happy, I am not too fussed if I secure a new client. Although when I move beyond distraught into a darker place, I don’t even care if I am alive so there are boundaries I need to locate and add to my map.