Feeling a little lost? You are definitely not alone.

When you can’t find your own words, let others inspire you.

Image by Steve Johnson from Pixabay

Hello from the land of not-quite-writer’s-block. I’m still here, still feeling like someone has thrown sand into my gears. In this state of feeling like each and every word is a heavy stone that I have to lift into place, I am so, so grateful to be surrounded by other writers who are always willing to lend a hand — either directly or unknowingly. Either way, I appreciate their generosity.

Some context: Last week, inspired by a bout of writer’s block and feeling bad about not knowing what my “purpose” is, I shared an excerpt from Becky Chambers’ novella, A Psalm for the Wild-Built, in which a robot named Mosscap said this to a human named Dex:

“You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don’t know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live.”

The post was mostly me just muddling through my own thoughts, but my brilliant and lovely readers took that humble opening and landed in the comments section with truly helpful insights. Here are just a few excerpts:

Jen Baxter ✒️

“… don't discount that 2025 could be zapping your creativity & ability to care.”

Excellent point, Jen. There is SO much going on in the world right now. After reading this simple observation, I realized that for the last two weeks I’ve been clenching my jaw hard enough to make it sore. No wonder I am having trouble stringing two words together.

Summer Koester

writes about the intense cognitive dissonance many of us are experiencing in this moment in her piece, “Greta Was Right: The “Normal” Ones Are Acting Pretty Strange,”

In The Guardian article “Systems are crumbling – but daily life continues. The dissonance is real,” Adrienne Matei writes about this cognitive dissonance and feeling of dissociation—and, as one psychotherapist put it, the traumatic experience of feeling alone in this reality.

“The worst thing in the world is to feel that you’re the only one who feels this way and that you are going quietly mad and everyone else is in denial,” Caroline Hickman says. “That terrifies people. It traumatizes people.”

Christina Patterson

“I think this whole ‘purpose’ thing is another stick we use to beat ourselves … Purpose is a story we tell ourselves, like everything else. Sometimes it’s helpful. Sometimes it isn’t.”

Damn. That gave me a whole new perspective. I felt like a fish who can’t explain what water is because to a fish water just IS.

Mark Goode

“Someone once remarked that we are ‘human beings’ and not ‘human doings.’ In our task and achievement obsessed culture, the beauty of ‘existing and marveling’ has been all but lost.”

Being instead of doing. Be human. Human being. Cue brain explosion. 🤯

Cathy Joseph

“What if your writing (and art!) are the vehicles you use to bring your purpose to life?”

Marcia Meier

“Being a writer—and you are—isn’t purpose. It’s an avenue to it. Your writing brings joy and meaning to others. Perhaps there’s something there.”

Two of my favorite people were clearly on the same wavelength, which tied in neatly to what Mark said: what we DO isn’t what we ARE. While I have adopted the label of “writer,” that is only one of the tools I use to express who I am, not my entire identity. Again — mind blown.

Jannie Howarth

(aka, my mom)

“But now that I am an old lady, I have decided that the idea of having a purpose is overrated (although lovely if you have one!). It is enough to live in gratitude, treat the world as we would like to be treated, keep learning, and do the best we can.”

As I said in my response to this comment, that seems like an excellent framework for living well.

☕️

The generosity of these thoughtful comments (and many others besides) lifted my spirits and warmed my heart.

Outside my small corner of the internet, there were many other writers whose words — though not written specifically for me — added to my understanding of what I’ve been feeling, made me feel less alone, and helped me look at the situation with fresh eyes.

In her piece, “Why the French Don’t Obsess Over Purpose,”

Pamela Clapp

has this to say:

For a long time, I felt uneasy about not knowing exactly what I was meant to do. (And, to put it in context, that feeling was amplified by motherhood — something I wrote about at length here.) But now, I think the French have it right: you don’t have to know. You don’t even have to ask.

What they value instead is curiosity. Culture. Taste. The art of paying attention. Of being present, not just purposeful.

That doesn’t mean people are passive. But the energy is different. Life is more about living well or profiter de la vie.

Makes me think of one of my favorite movies, Under the Tuscan Sun. Tuscany may be in Italy, not France, but I have a feeling the same philosophy of life applies.

Tina Hedin

was kind enough to link to my post in her piece, “The Redwoods Have My Back,” where she wrote this very relateable passage:

Friends, I was disappointed in myself this month, as so many things on my to-do list went undone. But the hard work of the heart and soul, and the result of that work, is not something I can touch or see. I know I’m doing enough, even if it can’t be measured.

I’m doing enough.

It’s hard to say that. It never feels like we’re doing enough. But even when we aren’t being productive in the capitalist sense of the word, we are doing the hard work of just being — of finding our way through this strange and often hard world, finding ourselves, finding our people, finding the small pockets of joy that make the whole damn thing worthwhile.

Finally, coming back to the angst of a writer who is having trouble writing, I found this piece from

Amanda B. Hinton

— part of her Writing Seasons series — very comforting. She is writing about the Season of Rest, which we so often resist:

I worried a lot about when I would be “better,” and I felt genuinely frightened that I may discover I was never a writer at all. (I did not discover this. I discovered the opposite.) These days I feel confident in saying that a Season of Rest is necessary and that writing will find each of us again, perhaps in new, surprising ways.

Seasons of Rest will look different for everyone, but my sense is that this season is a little bit terrifying for all of us.

Yes, is is a bit terrifying. For so many reasons. But under the terror, I feel a pull to take Amanda’s advice and surrender to the season — to stop refusing to rest, and instead listen to my body. Yes, the bills still need to be paid, so the work still needs to be done, but I have to believe that there is a way forward that doesn’t involve constant self flagellation and hustle. There has to be a way that acknowledges and accepts the seasons of the heart, including those seasons when we need to withdraw and just sit quietly.

In those times when I cannot seem to find my own words, I am so glad to have the words of others to prop me up. Sometimes, the best way to be a writer is to be a reader.

I hope that somewhere in this jumbled collection of thoughts and excerpts you find at least one idea that feels heavy and comforting in the palm of your hand, like a smooth, round stone.

☕️

I would like all of this to make more sense, I swear I would. I would like to have been able to come to you with a diligently well-thought-out and structured essay. But sometimes that’s just not in the cards. Sometimes I’d rather just have a conversation, and this messy missive is how conversations with friends generally go — wandering in circles, unearthing more questions than answers, but ultimately making me feel better.