As a long-term minimalist in possessions, I’ve written a lot recently about mental minimalism, and minimising the things which take up my time and mental capacities.
I will admit I have not done this well, oddly because I actually didn’t have many things to clear up.
Of course, mental health issues are a large part of this, but a large part too was how much time I was wasting reading blogs, newspapers (both of which I still love doing and will continue to do…just with a time limit). And to what end?
To block out the little voice in my head which has been slowly getting louder and louder over the past three months: “Create, please create. Write, it’s what you’re meant to do!”
I only half believed my boyfriend and friends when they said I was meant to write; that it is the thing I am good at and can excel in. (We’ll ignore that none of them has ever seen my writing). But it is the same realisation that they were right all along, and that they know me better than I know myself, that I came to when I switched my university courses after months of “But why did you stop?!” finally began to make sense.
I want to write, and today I swept some of that smog away, and I started. Small steps: poetry rather than prose; short stories in lieu of something bigger; try not to get overwhelmed.
So here goes. This purpose.