Fall Back in Love

I didn’t realize I could be so fickle.

So by now, you’ve probably realized that I haven’t posted regularly in some time. It’s been the direct result of some intense writer’s block, the kind where you don’t even sit down to write because you know that the gaze, that the intense stare-down of a blank computer screen will break you. Rather than take a chance on your computer knowing you’re a fraud, you avoid it like the plague, a phrase that has an increased level of relevance these days. I could blame it on said plague, but the reality of the situation is that life is still happening. People are still doing things, breaking up and falling in love, and so the show must go on. It’s not like I wanted to stay away, I just knew that I had nothing to say.

So I ask you a simple question, a question that’s bewildered me for months: how does one fall back in love?

I haven’t been great at falling in love. I’ve written about it at length, and while I may not be there yet, I’m still trying. Despite the quarantine, I’m going on socially-distanced dates, and I’m trying to make it work, while staying true to myself. I’m trying to do this while making sure I do so with integrity, as for me, this is the year of integrity and boundaries, and even though I may make mistakes, those are the goals I’ve set. I want to make sure that I adhere to them, and that they guide me on this path of life, when I’ve so often found it difficult to navigate, when I’ve so often felt completely rudderless.

And so I’m working on it. I’m working at falling in love with others, really falling in love, and I’m hoping that somewhere along the way, I fall in love with writing. I’m not saying that I’m going to write about every date, I only hope that as I start to make my way through this new normal, I hope that the creative wheels start to turn again, and that writing is something that becomes a love of mine once again. Even so, I want all the help that I can get. I don’t want to wait for the spark to reignite. I want to get back to the hobby I love, and I’m a little impatient.

So where to start? I started by picking up a book, and then another, and doing something that I hadn’t done in a long time: I bought some books. I bought books that are inspiring, that have strong messages, and slowly but surely, I’m getting back into reading. In many ways, reading is where it all started for me. At a certain point in my twenties, I decided to pick up a book and make it a hobby. I got a library card. I started making myself somewhat of a regular, and my love of reading took off from there. Rather than it being something I was forced to do, it became a leisure time activity, and I loved the idea of always having a book going, or better yet, several.

Maybe it won’t reignite my love of writing right away, but I can tell that something is starting to shift in me, and I’m sitting down to write just a little bit more. Maybe it won’t happen every day, but if I can get back to writing a couple of times each week, and start regularly posting on the blog (my backlog is impressive), then maybe I’ll start to love life just a little more, and start to feel like my old self, as much as anyone can feel like their old self, given what we’re all living through.


“Why don’t I extend the same level of love to myself that I extend to others?”

“Adam, that’s a great question, but we just don’t have the time to unpack it right now.”

In a raw moment in group therapy, I asked the above question, hoping for a magic answer that I’d overlooked. I hoped that I’d been so scrutinizing in my search that I’d looked past a minor detail that could blow the case wide open, but I received the above response, and figured I would wait to ask my therapist, when we had an hour, when we had the time, and when I wasn’t surrounded by a group of people, some of whom I knew, many of whom I did not. It was a loaded question, and I knew that, but I figured I wasn’t the only one who wanted to know the answer.

I don’t remember what my therapist’s response was, so here’s mine: I’ve always felt like it was easier to address other people’s problems, rather than my own. I’m not sure why that is, but maybe it’s because even if the problem is huge, ultimately, it isn’t my own, and I can cut the cord and divest myself from the outcome if it doesn’t turn out favorably. It’s always been difficult for me to turn back to myself, to turn inward, and really focus on what was going on with me, and so I know that the true challenge is to love myself, not in a cocky or arrogant way, but maybe, just maybe, for the first time in my entire life.

Any time I’ve felt close, it seems that a personal crisis has interrupted and shattered me, and let me know just how far from self love I really was. It’s hard to thing to believe you’re so much closer than you actually are, and to realize just how much more work you have to do. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for me to turn externally, to search out other people’s problems to keep me busy. At a certain point, though, I realized that while people were encountering their own problems, they were living life more than I was. I was standing on the sidelines and always willing to lend an ear, but I wasn’t moving forward in my own life. Maybe I was too busy wallowing in pain and self-pity.

And so cautiously, I move forward. I can’t go too quickly because that train will come off the tracks. I need to move slow, but in the right direction, and that feels right to me, and maybe that’s what I need to do for writing as well. I need to slowly fall in love with every aspect of my life, and that’s how I’ll approach things moving forward. I need to dedicate myself to love, to loving life, and loving myself. I hope that it works. Maybe it’s more important than falling back in love with writing. Maybe the most important thing is to fall in love with myself, and to keep it that way. Thanks for reading.


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