writing.as.amit

Having gotten tired this evening of sitting idly at home, I decided to step out and roam aimlessly around my neighbourhood. Only when I got on the road did I wonder which turn I should take.

I didn't have any goal in mind — I didn't, as I usually do, want to visit a cafe to read or write. Neither had I planned to meet someone. I just wanted to be out and surround myself with strangers.

There was a thought that I was pondering over from the book “The Little Book of Stoicism”.

A situation does not make us unhappy. Our judgements in the form of thoughts, opinions and interpretations make you unhappy.

It's such a profound thought. The very fact that I was tired of the commonness in a moment doesn't make me unhappy. When I let it eat me within, make me idle around the home aimlessly, stare at my smartphone as my fingers swipe on the screen — it is then that I am unhappy.

I decided I didn't want to let that happen. I want to give myself more chances of being out there. Give my #life a chance to not be monotonous. To observe something new. Find a new place. A new cafe on the block. A new road being paved. A buzzing park. Anything. Do something.

Just thirty minutes of roaming around today made me avoid the pain of doing nothing.

On my way back, I saw a man struggling to pull his motorcycle out of a parking lot. A wheel was stuck in a pothole and he could move it neither ahead nor behind. The helplessness on his face was palpable.

I stopped and asked him if he needed any help. Shocked at first and embarrassed later, he eventually gave in and accepted my offer. We managed to pull his motorcycle out from the pothole and him out of the troubling situation that he was in.

I walked home happily — I like to think he wasn't too unhappy either with the situation he had found himself in. A win-win for all involved I would say.

I like rating things, though I don't do it often. I used to follow the standard star rating — rating stuff one of five stars. At times, I even went into the scale of half.

I slowly realized that it is not a good scale for how my mind works. It's too much work and the trouble of finding an accurate star that captures how I feel was enough to deter me from reviewing at all.

I am changing how I rate things now to a different scale — either I like it or don't. It's simpler and no longer a mental hurdle.

How about a third option in between when I neither like nor dislike something? A “meh” maybe? Well, that's why the second scale is not “dislike”. It says I did not like it.

If it is not a confident yes, it's a no. A two-scale rating covers that range.

My daughter was writing in her journal today and casually asked me why she does not see me writing in my journal anymore. She was referring to a physical journal that she would see me writing in frequently a while back. I didn't have an easy answer for her, to be frank.

I said first that I write in my digital journal now — after all, I do have a Day One subscription, and it prompts me every day to make an entry. Do I always make one? Well, rarely. I haven't updated my journal with anything meaningful for quite some time now. Journaling isn't part of my routine anymore. So, I have slowly stopped doing it.

I was regular when I had made it my morning habit. The routine changed and so died my habit.

Leaving me in that deep thought, my daughter went on to scribble happily in her journal. Once she was done, she said, “I love how I feel when I capture everything on my mind in these pages.”

Even I want that now.

I had recently quipped here that we might see an increasing number of posts suggesting to other people what and how to blog. Here's what I said then.

With Twitter and Facebook dropping in popularity, I expect blogging to attract a few new users as an outlet for their voice. And I also expect the pundits to pollute the internet again with their suggestions on the best ways to blog.

Then, I went on to suggest what people should do while blogging. The irony, much?

My intention wasn't to do so, though. Instead, I wanted people to not worry about any of that stuff, especially while they are getting started blogging. Over the years, I have written about anything and everything. Hot sarcastic takes. Fiction. Technology. Personal essays. I wrote them all.

Many people suggest that one should stick to a specific area if they want more people to read what they write. It's better if that area is niche. Well, nothing kills a writer's motivation faster than the voice at the back of the mind continuously questioning if they should write what they are writing in the first place. If anyone will read them. That writer will bear that voice a few times but then realize it's too much trouble. And soon stop writing.

So, long back, I decided I wouldn't judge what I write or where I publish it. Nothing matters as long as I want it to be published. That includes who reads it. Or if anyone does at all.

I have accepted now that the only thing I control is the words. Everything else is external, outside of my control. So why worry about that?

Early mornings always play a significant role in my routine. I love the vibe all around during the dawn. The calmness. The silence. The hustle and bustle of morning service boys with their newspapers and milk packets.

The surroundings wake up around me, and I love to be the spectator.

Nature looks to be shrugging off the dormancy from the night before. Birds get busy early. Chirping. Waking each other up. Or already playing? Who can say? Trees sway lethargically with a smile, like a sane grandmother in a busy home. The breeze caresses me like a loving mother — I can almost fall asleep again.

Never a night owl, I couldn't stay awake beyond a reasonable time, even during my hostel days. Those were the days when staying up all night was normal. A sign of a happy student even. While my friends used to blast off into the night with their choice of rock music, I lay on my bed in deep slumber. Frequently, my friends and I had breakfast together — the only difference was that they were depleted on their way to bed, and I was chirpy post my deep sleep.

In the recent past, my morning routine has been hectic, not allowing me to live the calmness I so adore. Today I paused for a moment and stood looking out at the wakening surrounding.

A moment of life around. Of nothingness within. Of memories galore.

I keep my writing simple while conveying my thoughts. It is the most effective way that I know. I learnt this from all the people I enjoy reading online. But Derek Sivers has been the most significant influence.

There was a time when I liked to ornament my writing with unnecessary words. A lot of context. Too many adjectives. Metaphors.

I don't do that anymore as it is unwarranted for my kind of #writing. I don't want to pen the most beautiful piece of prose. Or be creative with the use and selection of words. I write to convey my ideas and that needs just clarity. Manu says this while sharing why he feels he is not a writer.

What matters here is not the writing, is the communication. Is the exchange of ideas, and the sharing of experiences.

I relate to this thought. As long as what I want to say is unambiguous, and is understood without trouble by the reader, my goal behind why I write is met. The length of the post or my vernacular does not matter.

I want my writing to sound as I do while I speak. And I don't articulate. I talk.

I am frustrated with my recent tendency to choose the easy option whenever an opportunity arrives. Watch rather than read. Read rather than write. Get tired doing both. And then sleep. I am doing this way too often these days. I have made this my routine. I am aware this behaviour isn't good. But I still do this.

Passively scroll through the news. Or YouTube shorts. And when I feel bad about my choice, I skim through my RSS feeds. Or newsletters. I attempt to fool my mind that I am reading the good stuff, following a good routine. I very well know that I am fooling no one. Especially not my mind. It continues to feel shit.

There was a time when I would take steps to correct the habits of bad choices. Move away from my smartphone. Uninstall apps. Or disable notifications. Track. Measure. Force me towards, or give me more opportunities to make better choices.

What pains me is I have stopped doing any of that, either. Every wasted day ends with a promise that I will start following a good routine from tomorrow. For that matter, routine of some sort, as I lack any at this point.

Weeks have gone by, but that tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I am afraid it never will if I don't take measures promptly. Being aware is useless if I don't act.

I haven't been able to write for the last few days. Or has it been months? I have no idea any more. I did quip now and then. But to me, that does not count. Life kept me busy, and my inclination to think dries up whenever that happens. If I ain't thinking, writing I am not.

I hate this behaviour of mine. Why must I be in a routine to find time or energy to write? It isn't as if the words dry out. I just can't put them out.

A possible answer is that I love my comfort zone. Anything out of the ordinary and I shut my brain down. I can't think. I can't do anything that I routinely do. Or so I convince myself. I enter a shell waiting for things to get back to normal. Waiting for me to find my comfort zone again. And then, and only then, do I begin living again.

Until then, I find cheap getaways. Scroll through YouTube. Or news. Rewatching already watched shows. Feel tired. Sleep a lot.

Such a menacing beast this comfort zone is. It makes me feel comfortable with and in control of my life. Yet soon, the same control shackles me down to the routine. The lack of stress the routine brings suffocates me. Stagnates me. Am I then even alive any more?

I've been watching Seinfeld's reruns recently, and one device has always puzzled me. The phone machine. It is a critical element in almost every episode and plays a central part in a few. And yet I have never owned such a device.

A landline was itself a luxury while I was growing up. Very few homes in the neighbourhood had them. Even we got it pretty late. I remember when we eventually did, our house became a switchboard, and we were the telephone operators—connecting folks all over to ones in our neighbourhood.

We received calls at home and took the messages. Sometimes, my parents held the line while I, being the only kid in the house, ran to the neighbour's home to invite them to receive the phone call.

It was all fun, to be frank. It felt good to hear the stories after the phone call. No one left away without sharing what the call was all about. A few wanted to add more context to what we unintentionally heard on one heard by narrating what was said on the other. It all felt customary.

We never had an answering machine. There was no way to leave a message for us while we were away. So instead, I was the answering machine for others while they were away.

Also, I am not sure I would be comfortable using such machines. I could never convey the message on the spot in short. All I would say is, “Call me back”. What else can one say without rambling on and on?

So when I see these machines screw up the main characters' lives in the shows like Seinfeld and Friends, I only chuckle. You know, I have been an answering machine, and we tend to screw up.

Writing should not be boring. If that happens to me, it means that I am doing it forcefully or that I do it out of habit. Yet, in either case, I won't stop writing.

I don't write because I have to. I write because I have something to say. That's why I cannot write on a schedule. Sure, I can sit in front of the screen and wait for the words to turn up. They generally do, which is why I have been a blogger for around 15 years. But I cannot force them to.

There are times when I write every day, multiple times a day. And then weeks go by, and I hardly publish anything.

This reminds me of a curious thought from James Clear. While talking about achieving mastery, he says.

Mastery requires practice. But the more you practice something, the more boring and routine it becomes.

It makes me wonder – can creativity be routine and boring? I hope not. Maybe that's the reason one can never master an art form. They are always learning. The same applies to writing.

I don't intend to master writing. All I want is to share my thoughts through words.