10.28.19

I think I would benefit from grabbing an AirBnB or something out in the woods for a weekend by myself. In my mind, it would be a great way to relax, calm down, and really focus on writing. Resistance works against this idea, though. It takes a couple of forms. First, I have this doubt that I would actually get the work done. This thought distortion (as my therapist would call it) is “fortune telling”. I don’t know what the hell would actually happen out there, and to assume that it would be a waste just prevents me from trying.

Resistance also takes the form of telling me that going out to write is something Writers do, not “writers”. The thing is, I am a Writer. You are reading the proof. I am a person who creates by writing, by definition I am a Writer. Full stop. Writer may not be my profession but that doesn’t make it any less an accurate part of my identity. Others may have their own definition of what a writer is… maybe I need to have published a book or pay my bills off of the earnings or something. Does that mean Shakespeare became a writer after a play or two? Or never? Or was he a writer simply because he wrote. I think the latter is more accurate.