Dreams are interesting things.
Why we want to accomplish them. Why we attach so much emotion to them. Why we have them in the first place.
One of my big dreams, that I don’t think I’ve written about much here, is to write a memoir.
And I was really focused on it for a while. A long while. I wrote on my own until I felt dry. Then I read books on memoirs and wrote through their prompts. And then I went back and rewrote some of the early material based on what I learned through reading. I typed when that felt right. I wrote with a pen when it felt right. I spoke into my phone and then converted it to text. I even pulled over on the side of the road to write once.
But then I got to a point where I didn’t want to write about it anymore. I wrote everything but the really scary parts. And I know I wrote them down on my old blog, but I couldn’t make myself go back through them to read and rewrite. I just couldn’t. And I still don’t want to.
And the one thing that I don’t want to write about?
I just can’t.
And I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I ever will.
I get random emails from a writing accountability system that I signed up for. I think about going back and editing what I have already written. I sometimes feel that all the time that I spent is wasteful if I don’t finish it.
But it is time for me to officially let it go. Because it is hanging over me. Because it irritates me on a weekly basis. Because I’m trying to let go of shoulds. Because I’m trying to either address or let go of what feels unnecessarily heavy.
And this just feels really really heavy.
I’m not the same person that started writing it. And I don’t have to address every single detail to be healed. And no one is depending on me. There are zero consequences to not finishing it right now.
I’m not saying that I won’t ever finish it. Between what I have written for the book, what I previously wrote on the old blog, and what is etched in my memory, I think I have all of my necessary material at my disposal. I’m not worried about losing details to time.
And if I did finish it now? I don’t feel emotionally prepared to go through the editing process with someone. Now just isn’t the time.
So I’m tabling a book that is 85-90% written. I’m unsubscribing from that accountability system. I’m putting my writing in a box instead of having it out on my desk. I’m amending my goal of “finish the memoir” and making it “write a book.”
The mix of heartbreak and relief is pretty much 50-50 right now. But I’m sure relief will come. And probably it will come from lack of thinking about it.
Sometimes I just have to make a declaration to make it real, you know? So thank you for being my witnesses.