When I reread my first daily blog entry from 2019, I suddenly remembered that my melancholy is nothing new.
The pandemic made me forget because it all felt normal – everyone was anxious, everyone was sad, and everyone had to tell themselves every day: “Be strong. Survive.”
So in 2022, as I went back out into the world and started to become human again, the melancholy felt like a new demon I no longer knew how to play nice with.
My research from the past two years was a security blanket that seemed to be slipping further away. I no longer had a primary project to wrap myself up in – instead I was a production line for direct response copy and content assets.
I have always loved the thrill of speed, but after two years of slow living, I had forgotten the anxiety speed came with.
Back then writing daily, in public, helped. Because writing isn’t just thinking. Writing is also telepathy – getting a thought from one mind to another.
Doing it regularly means that I get to slow down, let the primordial soup of my mind bubble over, and distil it into something (hopefully) worthwhile.
So here I am. Again.