I’ve been staring at blank documents for weeks now. A writer always has the goal of taking more time to write for themselves, and it has been a long time since I took on that challenge. I know why — I worked full-time as a writer for the past year. I would write on my computer the whole day, and when it was time to go home, I wanted to relax, spend time with my loved ones, be active. If I tried writing some more, it would be like a tedious chore. So writing was my job, no longer my hobby.
And then it became my job no longer.
It really sucks to find yourself out of a job through no fault of your own, and I would only wish it on my worst enemies. And I’ve looked back on my four years of college and have mentally kicked myself for getting a Creative Writing degree. Why did my parents let me do that?! Ugh. Pity. Woe is me.
But this has also forced myself to look back and ask: Why did I get a Creative Writing degree? I worked, struggled, cried, and had the best time for it. I briefly considered a Politics degree, but that was only because I wanted to be Leslie Knope. I used to be so in love with writing stuff down and telling stories, and I know I still know that feeling, but it’s a little hard to embrace when you’re in a foggy state of “Holy shit I need a job”.
So now I really wonder if I can get back to writing as a hobby, as something I love and do for myself and don’t care if it’s good or if anyone reads it. And I’m starting to think maybe that’s what I should have been doing all along. Time will tell.