I used to write a lot. Not the kind of writing I do these days, but the kind of writing that made me feel happy.
I know how this happened.
A few years ago, a hype around writing long, inspirational articles started to build up. The kinds that could theoretically cause a paradigm shift in your mind.
You know, the Mark Manson or James Clear kind of writing.
I was reading too much of that and trying too hard to emulate their success. In between, I lost my voice. I started believing my own voice wasn’t good enough, that I needed to be a little more like Mark Manson or James Clear. So I quieted my own voice and started copying theirs.
It made me miserable. So miserable I didn’t feel like writing for months. It’s like I restructured my escape and made it a chore.
I edited myself too much, even when editing didn’t make my writing any better.
Why did I do that?
And then I understood. I was making myself miserable by doing things I didn’t care about.
I am Lu Wee, forever. And I need to talk like myself and write like myself, even if it doesn’t fit what mainstream writing demands of me.
I stopped reading Mark Manson and James Clear. I picked up all the books I loved to read: Stephen King and Neil Gaiman.
I started spending more of my down time writing fiction. Then it all came back. That feeling of euphoria.
It’s not always euphoria, but it’s euphoria enough.
The other thing I used to do a lot of was exploring new adventures. I’ve wanted to learn how to dive since I was 26.
That plan was delayed because of personal family problems.
But now everything is more stable. I have more time off, and I’m starting to see the old me again.
I want to go diving. I want to explore a new place. Meet new friends outside of my business circle. Go on a trip together.
There are a lot of things I miss about myself. I’m sure, this is most people.
Life happens. You get married, have children, then your aspirations and goals take a backseat.
In my case, your family gets into big trouble and you chip in to help, and your aspirations and goals take a backseat.
For me, it’s been four years. Four years – that’s a long time, but not really.
At least, it’s almost over now, and I can take a breather.
I can find my old me and hang out with her again.