Writing has been really hard recently. Like swimming through custard, walking through glue, holding up an umbrella on a windy day hard. Which, as someone who always thought writer’s block was something people used as an excuse not to write, has been a hard pill to swallow.
For the past year on Substack, and the last 6 years of my career, I have been able to get words onto a page–well, onto a screen–whatever else is going on in my life. When writing is your job you don’t struggle to get words out; you can’t struggle to get words out, or you don’t get paid.
But now, all of a sudden, words are escaping me.
Actually, that’s wrong, I have words, they’re just not the right words, or they’re boring words, or they’re unoriginal words, or they’re words I believe no one is going to care about so I need to stop writing them.
Yet, writing words you believe no one is going to care about is part and parcel of this writing thing. You don’t write because people are ready to hear what you have to say; you write because you have something to say and you keep doing it until people listen.
And this is the first time in my life that people have really listened to what I’m trying to say. People have read my words, people have liked my words, people have liked my words so much they’ve asked me to write more words for them, or speak my words in their spaces.
Sure, I’ve written hundreds of thousands of words in my marketing career that people have read and–hopefully-cared about. But this time these are MY words. People are reading and caring about MY words.
So why have they escaped me all of a sudden? Why have they escaped me in my most joyous form of writing?
I think it might be because the words I’m trying to write, and the ways of living I’m trying to suggest, aren’t aligning with the ways I am living in reality.
A lot of what I write about is individual stuff you can sort through and unpick in your own time on your own terms. I’ve made great personal progress with my thoughts about money, about nature connection, about coming to terms with the climate crisis.
Community…
But, fortunately, or unfortunately, I bang on about community a lot. That is not something you can do by yourself.
And I’ve been really shit at making any kind of progress with my own community.
I was excited with my progress at the tail end of last year. I was undertaking Transition Town training, I had lined up conversations with a few great local people to chat with, and I had a list of organisations to reach out to.
I was all ready to make progress, but I thought, it’s December, it’s Christmas, people are busy, I will have a nice rest and pick it all up in January.
January came around and I froze.
I watch the community garden group chat share regular events, yet attended none of them. I’ve signed up for newsletters for classes to boost my confidence and social skills, and left them unread in my inbox. I scroll through Eventbrite, bookmark local activities, and pretend to forget about them until after the event has happened.
Overwhelmed–or anxious…
Barely a few weeks into the new year, and I’ve already gotten overwhelmed–or anxious–and cancelled on two local events that would’ve brought me a few steps closer to that coveted community.
And I know none of these individual events would’ve been life-changing, but each of them would’ve introduced me to an interesting connection, or piqued my interest in another group, or at least given me a chance to speak to people in the same space.
It would be wrong for me to say I’ve missed all of these opportunities out of inertia. In the last 4 months, I’ve spent more time ill and unwell than I have energetic and thriving. I have been hit by cold after cold and infection after infection, my body feels completely floored, and I feel incredibly low energy.
So low energy I’ve been struggling to show up to even online spaces that I’ve found solace and community in.
I received a card thanking me for putting together an online group, explaining how much they’re getting out of it. But I felt more envy than gratitude when I first read it, frustrated that I was not feeling as excited or creative or inspired as they were. I’m just exhausted, relieved to make it through another work week.
taking action is so hard…
I sit here in absolute awe of people like Cass from The Green Fix–attending various events across Europe and documenting her incredible process–or Adam from The Peasantry School Newsletter–with his hands deep in the mud and his heart deep in his community. Both practising what they preach.
Maybe that’s what makes these writers so lovely to read; because they’re doing the thing they’re talking about. Because taking action is so hard.
There’s the obvious ‘an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon’ excuse, it’s easier to stay in your warm, dry home than go knock on a door or show up to an event with people you don’t know.
Especially when there are additional things holding you back; packed schedules, clashing events, and copious amounts of anxieties.
And I bloody hate the concept of anxiety because, in the most loving way, I am someone who–whilst diagnosed with anxiety–has time and time again pushed through the intense fears to do the thing–the job interview, the social gathering, the talk–however many hours I spent crying in the bathroom or hyperventilating beforehand. I refuse to let some chemicals in my brain stop me from doing the things I wanna do!
But this community stuff is making me feel 16 all over again. I’m scared! I don’t want to go! I want to stay on my sofa and read my book!
go and do the thing I’m terrified of…
Thus, I find myself writing about the things we need to do, without actually having done them. I’m suggesting you join your community garden, your Transition Town, to knock on your neighbours’ doors, and I ain’t done any of it!
I see two options; one, I stop writing about an incredibly important piece of my philosophy (lol) or two, I go and do the thing I’m terrified of.
Can you guess what the answer is?
Spoiler: It’s number two. I have to suck it up and do the thing.
Which is why I think I’m writing this.
I believe if people can see that it is bloody difficult, that it is bloody scary, and that it takes a lot of bloody effort, but it’s still possible, it’ll inspire them to do it. I believe if people can see that I can do scary things, so can they.
If my introverted, exhausted, home-loving arse can do the thing, then maybe you can too.
And god, I would love to slot into a pre-existing community. I wished I lived in Bristol or Brighton or Totnes and there were lovely things going on already.
But I don’t, and there isn’t, so I have to help carve it out myself.
I have one request, though. Please tell me stories about your higgledy-di-piggledy events and communities. Tell me how you built them, and the steps you took to get there. And if you live in Birmingham, come say HI!