Somedays, I feel like I’ve fallen out of love with poetry.
It’s nothing personal really, it just feels different now. Take this blog for instance. I have eighteen incomplete drafts which I once started with a purpose and now, I do not know what to make of them anymore. It’s somewhat like looking at a mesmerizing piece of art knowing that beneath all those colors and details lies a hollow canvas which had no meaning until someone decided to give it some. A clever analogy except today, I can’t bring myself to force a purpose without having to accompany the inevitable burnout that comes along with it.
I’m in a toxic relationship with productivity and I don’t know what to feel about it. The redundant need for constant contribution has moulded our entire lifestyle into an overworked existence. There’s no gratifying sense of accomplishment anymore. No breaks. No time to find contentment in the little things. So you just work and work and work. Until one day, the adrenaline rush dies out and you eventually find yourself exhausted, burned out and curled up in a blanket for the next two weeks stress eating your way through the intense self loathing that comes with the feeling of not being useful enough.
After all, what has the idea of productivity become if not a way to justify the guilt that comes with happiness?
Balance is a beautiful word. I started writing this post without an idea on how to end it hoping that I’d stumble upon a magical life lesson along the way and tie it to something motivational towards the end. But that didn’t happen, so this time I’m going to stick with some accountability instead. I like demanding work. I’m good with competition and there’s nothing that makes me happier than ticking off tasks from a meticulously organized to-do list.
Meanwhile on the other extreme of my personal spectrum I have a collection of secondhand books from a local library I love, a soft spot for cringy dramatic TV shows and an unhealthy obsession with strawberry flavored alpenliebe. It’s probably not the list of priorities that is generally expected but nevertheless, it’s somewhere that I can start. Lately, I think I’ve been doing a decent job in trying to find my point of equilibrium. I’m still stumbling around trying to find my way through. But then again, who isn’t? So until then, I’m looking forward to a break up that’s long overdue and if it’s not too late, I’d like to fall in love with poetry again.