I’m over the forced one hour of journaling. I’d been a good experiment but it’s becoming an impediment now. I need to recognize that my thinking is moving into a different season. It’s far more important for me to allow myself to write in shorter more fragmented bursts. I continually go through these phases, or seasons, but this is the first time that I’m actually taking notice of them. I wonder if there is any correlation with the actual seasons. Is my mind more conducive to long continuous stream-of-consciousness journaling in the autumn & winter? Am I more focused on short fragments and making connections in the spring and summer? I would not be surprised by this at all knowing how the weather affects me in so many other mental and emotional ways. The most likely outcome for forcing myself to journal for one hour bursts is that I will actually quit all together before I reach 66 days (which is entirely arbitrary now anyhow.) I find it simultaneously easy and difficult to recognize when to force myself to maintain a goal and when to let it go. I think it’s just about how I feel when I’m done with each repetition. How do I feel after forcing myself to sit down and write for exactly an hour? If I feel good, like I conquered something, then I’m doing a good thing. I’m displaying grit. I’m facing laziness and apathy. But if I feel like shit after I finish; if I’m more frustrated than when I started; if I start hating the whole process, then something is wrong. It’s time to adapt. It’s time to listen to myself. It’s time to listen to the ache before it become a pain. With a week left I’m starting to journal later and later in the day. I’m starting to dread the hour of blocked time. This is the flashing neon sign. EXIT. If I listen now then I can adapt and alter and find a way to propel forward with this new energy that is burgeoning. If I hold out and ignore the suffering that I’m creating then I will burn out and quit. I won’t make it. And I won’t care.
By C.A. Hall
Writer / Podcaster I'm a well-written sentence marred by a curse word. In another life I might have been a criminal profiler, a jazz drummer, an architect, an acrobat, an actor, or a children’s book illustrator.View all of C.A. Hall's posts.