reluctance to write.

i don’t know why
nothing feels write-about-worthy.

maybe i simply do not want
to share?

‘What has been happening in your life lately?’ J. asks. We haven’t seen each other for around six months. I don’t know what to answer. The kimchi noodles make my nose run. I get up and go to the bathroom to grab a tissue. I come back to the living room and sit down again on the floor at the dark brown square wooden table. L. on the couch to my right, J. on the opposite side of the table. I start talking. 

What I say doesn’t feel meaningful. It feels like I am hiding what is meaningful to me from the outside world — even from people who I am close to.

Why?

When I get asked how my life is, or how I am doing, it seems as if I cannot access the correct information. Or, I don’t even know what could be the right information.

I often feel I tell people things that don’t depict my inner reality. What I say out loud doesn’t seem to correspond to my personal truth. But what is my personal truth? What is it that I am hiding? That I am incapable of expressing?

I have the assumption that my personal truth may be wordless, but I am not sure. I don’t think in images either. It is just inside me, and rarely, barely, gets out.

Most of what I’ve done and what has happened in my life lately isn’t necessarily what feels meaningful — what feels meaningful is how I have been living my life:

The habits, the system, the world that I have built, that I am continuing to build, and that I am inhabiting now, every day, every week, every month, …

I have been starting every day the same way: I meditate for 15 minutes. I do a handful of stretches and strength exercises. I prepare a cup of hot water that I drink while I am working for 30 minutes on something related to promoting my art. I type what I wrote in my journal the night before into a notes doc.

A couple of weeks ago, I started to write down my dreams after waking up. Mostly before meditating, sometimes after – occasionally, I only start to remember them while meditating. I type them as well into a notes doc, after I type the journal entry from the previous night.
Writing down and becoming aware of my dreams led to my dreams feeling a bit more like being awake, while being awake has started to feel a bit more like dreaming. I think I’ve started to live more subconsciously.

I recently added alternating a qigong session or a calisthenics workout after typing my evening and dream journal entries. And I increased the length of my bi-weekly runs from 7 to 10 km. Last week I even ran about 13 km, along Schlachtensee, Krumme Lanke, and Grunewaldsee, all the way back to Steglitz. Moving more has made both my mind and body feel more alive and alert. It has also made it easier to stay calm in challenging situations. And I booked flights to New York for September, to film my next ambient documentary.

I haven’t mentioned any of this when J. asked me what has been happening in my life lately. I don’t know what is interesting to others and what isn’t.

reluctance to write.

i don’t know why
nothing feels write-about-worthy.

maybe i simply do not want
to share?

‘What has been happening in your life lately?’ J. asks. We haven’t seen each other for around six months. I don’t know what to answer. The kimchi noodles make my nose run. I get up and go to the bathroom to grab a tissue. I come back to the living room and sit down again on the floor at the dark brown square wooden table. L. on the couch to my right, J. on the opposite side of the table. I start talking. 

What I say doesn’t feel meaningful. It feels like I am hiding what is meaningful to me from the outside world — even from people who I am close to.

Why?

When I get asked how my life is, or how I am doing, it seems as if I cannot access the correct information. Or, I don’t even know what could be the right information.

I often feel I tell people things that don’t depict my inner reality. What I say out loud doesn’t seem to correspond to my personal truth. But what is my personal truth? What is it that I am hiding? That I am incapable of expressing?

I have the assumption that my personal truth may be wordless, but I am not sure. I don’t think in images either. It is just inside me, and rarely, barely, gets out.

Most of what I’ve done and what has happened in my life lately isn’t necessarily what feels meaningful — what feels meaningful is how I have been living my life:

The habits, the system, the world that I have built, that I am continuing to build, and that I am inhabiting now, every day, every week, every month, …

I have been starting every day the same way: I meditate for 15 minutes. I do a handful of stretches and strength exercises. I prepare a cup of hot water that I drink while I am working for 30 minutes on something related to promoting my art. I type what I wrote in my journal the night before into a notes doc.

A couple of weeks ago, I started to write down my dreams after waking up. Mostly before meditating, sometimes after – occasionally, I only start to remember them while meditating. I type them as well into a notes doc, after I type the journal entry from the previous night.
Writing down and becoming aware of my dreams led to my dreams feeling a bit more like being awake, while being awake has started to feel a bit more like dreaming. I think I’ve started to live more subconsciously.

I recently added alternating a qigong session or a calisthenics workout after typing my evening and dream journal entries. And I increased the length of my bi-weekly runs from 7 to 10 km. Last week I even ran about 13 km, along Schlachtensee, Krumme Lanke, and Grunewaldsee, all the way back to Steglitz. Moving more has made both my mind and body feel more alive and alert. It has also made it easier to stay calm in challenging situations. And I booked flights to New York for September, to film my next ambient documentary.

I haven’t mentioned any of this when J. asked me what has been happening in my life lately. I don’t know what is interesting to others and what isn’t.