I’m in one of those moments when I question the point of what I’m doing. I write a lot and I imagine I’ll continue doing so for a while, but I’m not sure of its value. What am I accomplishing? I don’t mean in terms of success or recognition, I mean what am I doing for myself? It’s not as though I enjoy writing. There are aspects I like. I enjoy playing with words and shaping them to mean what I want. Make them look or sound or flow in a way that inexplicably makes me feel good. It’s a bit like ocd for me in that I can’t explain why the words feel right anymore than others can explain why touching a doorknob a certain number of times or straightening every coaster on the table feels right. But there’s a clear difference between it feeling like you need to do something and deciding it’s a good reason to keep doing it. Most people with ocd reach a point when it’s overwhelming because the tasks are unnecessary and distracting from other aspects of life.
I wonder if posting here is the same. Writing feels right at times but is an ultimately useless practice, for me.
I think some of the reason that I post is because I’m typically self-sustaining. I often don’t talk to anyone. I’d say 80-90% of my free time is spent alone. I’ve always sort of preferred it this way, even going 9 days without taking to a single person two years ago until my streak was broken at the checkout line at target. Unfortunately I still needed food.
So much seclusion can weigh on you though. It’s not boredom that scares me. It’s spending so much time thinking about life. My life. Meaning. Death. Purpose. I read philosophy, which does nothing but add to the existential questioning. It’s the difference between intellectualizing free will and living a life that agrees with my conclusions.
This site is my outlet and a bit of a social surrogate. But oftentimes it fails to fulfill that expectation. Not due to a lack of likes or comments but because the personal connection is lacking by definition when only given what is presented and only giving what is thought worthy.
I’m sure it’ll pass, but for now, I’m wondering what I’m doing here.