1:30am
You find me sitting in bed with a Chromebook propped in my lap, bathed in the light of a bedside lamp. Midnight came and went quite some time ago. All I can hear is the tapping of my fingers on the keys, tree branches swaying in the wind outside, and the muffled sounds of the television in the lounge. Now and again the distant rumble of an aircraft passes on approach to Heathrow.
The feeling of disconnection has been growing again just recently. I think perhaps when I try to spin too many plates, I forget to live. It’s tempting to always think about the next thing, rather than enjoying where I am, or what I’m doing.
I’ve written about sliding doors in the past - the moments when our lives change course - and that sometimes we know we’re facing them. Back then I wrote about the anticipation - the uncertainty - the hope - the fear. I didn’t write about the other side of it - the realisation that a chance has passed, that a moment has gone, that a given path no longer exists.
Life feels a bit like that at the moment - like the number of paths are dwindling.
I know this feeling will pass. Just the act of writing about it helps.
Quite often when people discover I write a blog, they ask why - what benefit it is. I invariably answer that (in my mind at least) the blog isn’t really for others. That they might read it, identify with it, and enjoy it is really secondary. I write for me. Writing helps me explore the contents of my own head - a therapy session of sorts - with an unknown audience.
Earlier this evening an old friend messaged me after I suggested she write a blog, asking about where and how to host it. I volunteered that the platform really isn’t important. It’s more about your reasons for doing it, the stories you might share, and how telling them benefits you. Everything else is secondary. I do hope she starts writing though - she’s one of the most interesting people I’ve ever known.
Anyway.
It’s approaching 2am. I need at least a little sleep.