Last week someone asked me, “Why did you stop writing?”

I didn’t know the answer to that. Some of the things that went through my head were:

  1. Time…which is bullshit.
  2. Language…I am not intelligent enough to write eloquently without cursing all the time.
  3. Grammar…I am so insecure about my poor use of proper grammar that it was too stressful to hit the “Publish” button.
  4. Featured images…it’s a pain in the ass to decide on and load a new featured image every day.
  5. About 100 other cruddy excuses.

The truth is that I stopped writing because I stopped writing. I was in a habit of writing every single day of the week, Monday through Friday. I stopped, I broke the cycle, so I quit.

Pretty silly, huh?

When I write, I am a better person. Writing gives me a reason to pay attention to the good that is in everyday life. When I don’t write, I don’t have to pay attention, which makes it easier to be a miserable cuss of a person who complains about the state of the universe all of the time while sucking the life out of anyone and everyone around me. It’s just easier that way.

I made a voluntary decision to be less-than-better when I decided to stop writing regularly. I consciously told myself, “It’s fine. Be not as happy, not as grateful and not as good as you can be. It’s easier.”

I set up my own obstacles, then walked to the other side and said that I could not get around them.

A featured image? Really? That’s is my best excuse?

A few curse words in the year 2019? That is a solid reason to not be better?

Poor grammar?

C’mon man. You can do better. The landmines I laid in my own field, I bought second-hand. They don’t even work. They are just for show. They are props I use to convince myself that my drama is real.