I was lying in bed recently thinking about procrastination, self-discipline, and how I don’t blog regularly anymore. When I started this blog more than two years ago, I wrote 19 posts in the first month. I’ve barely written 19 since then.
So I had the idea to write a post about why I don’t blog much (“That’s so postmodern” –B), which is basically because I procrastinate and then ultimately stopped writing for myself. But lying in bed I thought, “eh, I’ll do it tomorrow.” Ugh, the irony.
Despite a headache that felt as if someone was scooping out the inside of my head with a spoon—the way you prepare a pumpkin for carving—I lumbered out of bed to write a few paragraphs. As writers know, it never, ever works to put off an idea. You won’t remember it. You tell yourself you’ll remember it. You never do. Get up and write the damn thing down.
Catherine: 1. Procrastination: 745,302,498.
I don’t really have a lot of self-discipline. It’s why I procrastinate, why I have to force myself out of bed every morning, why I haven’t exercised routinely in two years and—you see where I’m going with this—why I don’t blog much. It’s hard for me to get into a routine, for some reason. Sure, it sounds perfectly reasonable to say I’m going to get up at 6 every morning, go for a jog, get ready for work, go to work, come home, make dinner, relax, blog.
But that sounds boring.
When I do develop a routine, something goes awry and I lack the self-discipline to keep it up. Like when I started a weight loss program two years ago and lost 15 pounds, then I lost my job. (And some other shit happened.) So long, daily workouts. Hello, therapy ice cream. And queso dip. And fruit snacks. And pad Thai.
During my time of career exploration, I started this blog. I got into a routine of sorts: look for jobs, write, look for jobs, file for unemployment. But then I got a new job, and although I vowed to continue detailing my rural gallivanting, the blog became more and more neglected. Part of that was self-discipline. I’d become busy with a new job and new life and I didn’t make the time to write (or exercise, for that matter). But another part was something I wasn’t expecting: the conditions of my new job.
For almost two years, I covered politics. I developed a very strong love-hate relationship with this beat. Being a political writer helped me hone my reporting skills and presented me with enviable opportunities. I covered Sarah Palin and a rally with President Obama. I tracked money and promises made. Governors, senators and congressmen knew my name. It was some of the most exciting and fulfilling work I’ve ever done. But politics also made me face the real-world implications of what I wrote more than I ever had before.
In past jobs, I can confidently say that most of my stories were… pleasant. In politics, even if a story is generally pleasant, the reaction it garners is not. You’re either too easy on someone or you’re too hard on them. Readers love to tell you how to do your job, especially if they think you’re out to get—or help—someone. Suddenly, everything you say and do becomes subject for online fodder along with the people you cover.
I received hate mail in every form: snail mail, voice mails, emails, tweets and blog posts. On one guy’s blog, he complained about me so often that he created a tag just for my name. That’s when you know you’ve made it! Readers would analyze the wording in headlines and the grammar in stories (honestly), trying to wrap me into their conspiracy theories.
Having come from a town where I felt supported by my readers in my columns and features, the reaction to my political coverage was jarring. Slowly, I began to retreat. Not in my reporting, but in my personal presence online. I posted to facebook less, rarely tweeted on my personal account and this blog virtually dropped off my radar. I wanted to keep my online social life to a minimum, lest I gave the wannabe local pundits more fuel.
When I stopped writing for myself, my professional writing began to feel cold and mechanical. Some days I was a robot, plugging the facts into sentences, sentences into a story, story into the paper. Lather, rinse, repeat. I felt detached from my work, even though the intensity, excitement and stress were peaking. I was disappointed when I didn’t win any awards for my political coverage, but part of me knew why. After a certain point, my heart wasn’t in it anymore.
That’s when I started looking for a new job.
I love writing about other people, but I realized I had begun writing for other people. I was writing for my editor, or for the community to prove I wasn’t partisan, or for bigger papers in hopes of getting noticed. I was trying to write how I thought political reporters were supposed to write, but it wasn’t me. I’d stopped writing for myself. I’d lost my voice.
A few people will tell me that’s absurd. I received a lot of positive feedback from journalists whose opinions I respected. After I announced I was leaving, I received dozens of emails and notes from those whom I covered and worked with, praising my work in the community. I felt better about the energy, time and dedication I gave to that paper. But I still felt like I needed to find my voice.
Putting my thoughts down on the keyboard is a therapy of sorts for me. Writing for yourself is introspective; it forces you to be real and be true and be honest. That’s why it’s so hard—and why it’s so easy to quit. It takes inspiration and self-discipline (ugh), but I’m hoping to make this blog a regular part of my life again. It’s a part that I’ve been missing.
I’m taking a break from journalism (though not from writing professionally) at the moment, but I hope to return someday. Until then, I’m enjoying life in a fabulous city, with plenty of inspiration for future posts.
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I can’t remember a time when I was satisfied with my weight. I’ve been more or less overweight my entire adult life. My self-discipline comes and goes, but most of the time it goes. (Like how I just scarfed down a honking slice of peanut butter pie topped with fudge for dessert at lunch. Hey, it was a special occasion.)
Five weeks later, I’ve lost 9 pounds so far and it feels great. Seeing the number on the scale decrease week after week, it’s extremely satisfying. (Especially on my super cute new blue scale.) I’m doing the program completely online, which I think will help me stick with it. In high school, going to the weekly meetings became a chore. But with the online system, I can track my weight, activity and everything I eat without carrying a notebook around. For you doubters—I really can’t stress enough how much of a difference it makes to keep track of what you eat.
