Searching for my Voice

I am constantly accompanied by a deep sense of dissatisfaction.

Dissatisfaction at what I’ve accomplished. What I’m not accomplishing. At the ideas I don’t have time to work on, and the ideas I wish I had.

At the glacial pace with which my writing career is proceeding. At how little there seems to be that I can do to change that.

And it makes me tired.

Or maybe being tired is why I’m so dissatisfied?

It’s certainly related.

I’m so tired of being tired.

Once upon a time, I used to come up with blog ideas at the drop of a hat. These days, I feel like I’ve lost my voice.

It’s a dangerous world out here on the interwebs, and I’m too tired to take the slings and arrows of people who think if they disagree with me, I absolutely must know about it.

Frankly, simply asking questions about sensitive topics is a reason for slings and arrows these days.

To learn and grow as a culture, we must have the social freedom to ask questions and have reasonable discourse. But reasonable discourse seems like a completely unreasonable expectation these days.

We live in a culture that’s forgotten the art of giving grace. Or maybe it’s just that those who haven’t learned we all need grace at some point are so numerous and loud.

Has the Internet killed civility? I hesitate to make a claim that bold. But it’s certainly a bit like the Wild West out here these days, isn’t it? Mob law on Facebook, Twitter lynchings, and even charismatic evangelists/influencers turning entire online communities in one direction or another.

Proof that the information highway hasn’t actually made humans any smarter.

Am I getting smarter? Maybe that’s what happened.

When I started blogging, I had so much to say. I had opinions, and blithely posted them on the Internet for random strangers to find.

Now, I’ve learned that having opinions doesn’t make you right. And posting things on the Internet is great, as long as you can handle the responsibility and potential Twitter-storm that goes along with it.

Or maybe I just don’t want to add to the noise. Because for the Wild West, it’s surprisingly noisy out here, isn’t it?

But even in the Wild West, people knew they needed other people. You might only see your neighbours a few times a year, but it was a reason to party. Today’s Wild West feels more like a rave than a friendly neighbourhood barn dance, though.

These days, the only place to “see” neighbours safely is in the wilds of the Internet, and it feels a little too untamed to party about. More like skulk around and hope you don’t attract the wrong kind of attention while you do what you have to do, pick up your supplies from the General Store, and then head home, like you’re some kind of outlaw—or the town is run by a gang of them.

I don’t exactly know where I’m going with this. But part of my dissatisfaction is not knowing how to be anymore.

I’ve had a lot of changes in my life in the past year, and each of those changes has made me more isolated to varying degrees. There was the pandemic, which meant I could no longer teach piano students in my home. I finished the 2019/2020 teaching year by Zoom, as did every other music teacher I know, but I decided not to continue lessons in the fall. I’d meant to step away from that career in a few years anyway, and I was busy enough with other work last year, it seemed like a good time to just do it rather than add to my stress by making the changes needed to accommodate students in my home again. (Wouldn’t have been possible in our trailer, and then, we moved. All kinds of reasons why just closing the doors last year was a good idea.)

Then, in January, I ended my freelance writing contracts. While I don’t regret the decision, I didn’t really think about how those contracts ensured I was constantly meeting new and interesting people, constantly challenging myself in a way my other work does not, and pushing me a teeny bit out of my comfort zone with each assignment (or a lot, depending on what it was). And I didn’t realize until I wasn’t doing it anymore how much I need that, especially as I was no longer teaching.

And since I’ve found social media has become a rather unpleasant place to be most of the time, I’ve withdrawn from even that source of interaction with people, for the most part—even as far as content creation. It doesn’t seem worth the time to make engaging content when I don’t feel inspired to be there in the first place, and it takes time away from creating the things that will truly serve my customers—more books and patterns.

So I’m dissatisfied. Perhaps I’m languishing, like that article in the New York Times talked about. Because, in reality, things aren’t that bad. I’m getting outside, I’m talking to family and sometimes friends, and I’m making progress on my career, though slowly. But I need something new and different.

I need a change. I’m tired of being closed off and isolated.

I think I’m ready to start blossoming again. I’ve started climbing out of the Pit of burnout, and it’s created this dissatisfaction—I have enough energy to want more to happen, but not quite enough to actually make it happen at any sort of speed.

So, the dissatisfaction is good news if it’s an indicator that I’m healing. If I can only take two steps forward before sliding back one, that’s one more step I wasn’t able to take a few months ago.

And as I climb out of burnout, I’m hopeful I’ll find my voice again on the way.

Thanks for listening. Thanks for sticking around.

Stay safe and well, friend. It’s a wild world out there.

Thumbnail photo by Oleg Gekman, courtesy of 123rf.com.