All I do is write, and I write so much that I never have time to write. This is my primary complaint about my life, and I know, that makes it a pretty damn good life. But in becoming a professional, full-time writer, I spend so much time writing that I have no time or energy for personal writing.
The result? This blog has become so neglected that I can no longer call myself a blogger; these days, I'm lucky if I can even squeak out a verbose Instagram caption. But everyone seems to have a Substack now, and I want one, too. They're new and shiny, like blogs felt back in 2008 or 2011.
In fact, I subscribe to a few of them, ones written by bloggers I read back when I first started here, the OGs who have long since abandoned their corners of the Internet (like Valorie and Simone and Amy). It feels so thrilling to see their words on digital paper again, and I think, I could do this, too! But then I think: Would anyone read it? And then I think: Would I ever even write it? Because truthfully, I write so much, for work and for my freelance pursuits, that I hardly have time to read, either; too many o my friends' words sit unread in my inbox, just like my own sit in my head, unwritten.
I'm not mad about it. I am a professional writer. When people ask what my dream job is, I don't really have an answer, other than to say that maybe I would be a different kind of professional writer, bcause the truth is that this is all I have ever really wanted to be and all that I can imagine ever being. I love it, and I am good at it, and I don't fall asleep on Sundays panicking about waking up on Mondays. Who can ask for more than that?
At my day job, I write medical content that genuinely helps people, articles that people read in moments of anxiety and fear when they're awake at 2:00am and Googling out of sheer panic. I write the stories they send to their children out of love, or to their aging parents out of worry, or to their girlfriends to say, "Don't believe everything you watch on TikTok."
Through my freelance work, I write articles that help Clevelanders connect to their city, to find restaurants to enjoy with friends and to bookmark for date nights when they can find a babysitter. I tell the stories of small business owners who are trying their damndest to turn their life's dream into their life's work. I get to show off the city I love.
And in my personal time, sometimes, I still share pieces of myself on social media, sort of. It's mostly on Instagram now, and not nearly as often or as in-depth as it used to be, because I never quite made the transition to "content creator" that the algorithm insists upon, and I increasingly have less interest and more shame (in a good way) and fewer hours in the day to spend on it. But I'm still there — writing, talking, storytelling, sharing.
In so many way, I'm more of a writer than I've ever been... and at the same time, I'm less of one than ever. I guess that's how life goes, right? The push and the pull of it all, the continual attempt to shift and balance your identity and figure out what's right for you in the moment — what respects the past and plans for the future while honoring the now.
I'm too busy wriitng. I miss writing.
And I'll say
I'm the fabled
one that let you down.
The greatest escapist
the world has ever known...
