I have been struggling mightily recently.
Regarding my writing, I'm sure that's been evident enough to anyone who has read the pieces from the last couple of days. Shit, it took me seven drafts to put up Tuesday's mediocre piece about my work forking into four different projects. How deep was that struggle? I decided to write that piece not just because it was true and felt important, but also because I thought it would be simple to write, and thus a welcome respite from all the, yes, struggle. But for some reason, it wasn't simple at all.
Unfortunately, struggling in my writing is probably the smallest piece of struggle I'm dealing with. My move toward the kind of work I believe myself called to do has stalled completely. I thought I'd find some forward momentum when ski season rolled around and I began to teach again. To my dismay, that hasn't been the case at all.
I feel like a fucking fraud. And you know what? I'm really fucking bored of that feeling. But boredom doesn't seem to be enough to make it go away. I guess the feeling, or whatever's triggering it, has something to teach me.
In the zero draft for this piece, I began to write, "I've been down this road so many times." But then I caught myself. "But … have I?" I said. "Maybe I've only stood on this road again and again. Maybe I've only ever walked in circles."
If that's the case, then it's time to actually follow where it leads.