I start my morning as I finish my night. I’d been to bed, but not slept as far as I remember. I’d gone to bed with the intention to get up again that night; there was a journal article I had to read for a tutorial in the morning. I decided, however, that I would just get up earlier in the morning and make the most of my night’s sleep. Somehow, it didn’t go to plan. I drifted in and out of restlessness for a few hours before making myself a coffee and sitting up in bed to make a start on the article. I got so far through before losing motivation, so decided to go for a bath and read something else. I’m a few chapters in to Alain De Botton’s ‘Consolations of Philosophy’. It’s been a great read so far: one I might review, should I ever get round to my plan of doing book reviews. So many plans I make, for the amount of action I actually take. Another idea I had (yesterday, I think) was to start one of those 30-day-challenge things. The difference being, it wouldn’t be explicit challenged so to speak. Instead, the challenge would be to blog consistently for 30 days, with the premise that it could become some sort of reflective process and tool for introspection and possibly change.
Writing, for me, is often very reflective. Personal-observational writing is my go-to when I just want to write. I document my environment; my physical and mental landscape at a given time, while projecting on tangents back or forward – wherever becomes relevant to the current narrative. Perhaps this will become the beginning of my 30-days-of-introspection? It’s hard to say, though, for as many ideas as I have there are a fraction – a large fraction – that never come to transpire. Or perhaps they will, but in some half-assed manifestation. I often feel when I write, particularly of my emotions and motivations, my most internal beliefs and perceptions that it gives me some additional power to see through the layers unconscious of self-deception we all shroud ourselves in. I’m also more able to fully develop my thought: to see trends, make links, and observations – ultimately progressing my understanding of various given situations and myself.
One hurdle (I stop to reflect on whether it really is a hurdle, but I’ll allow discourse to decide) I come across is quite conveniently demonstrated in my near-objection just there. I become overly analytical of my writing, of the content and form, to the extent that whether I’m critiquing one or the other becomes blurred. Am I developing my sense of me, or the story I’m telling myself – and is there a difference? Whichever it is, there is generally something to reflect on and learn by the end of it. Even there, as I started this paragraph, I – entirely without intending to do so – demonstrated in a concrete form what I was about to describe as more of an abstract. I do this became I’m doing this, which put a much finer point on it than I might have otherwise. This all becomes a part of the reflection process. The hurdles, in a sense, are just a part of the narrative – a part of me, perhaps – so that they arise is only natural.
After my bath, I got on with my day – my morning alarm had just gone off. I finished reading over the journal article on the bus to university (it was on the development of scientific thinking, which is marked by the ability to think about your thinking – which is what’s going on here to a degree) and got through the tutorial which much more contribution from myself than I’m used to. I suppose I am more informed on the topic (having a general interest in the subject, and having studied this module before) as well being in a group with people who were not as quick to answer out-loud. Not that I normally would be quick to call out, but I find there’s a sort of unspoken ‘you’re the one who talks’ during group discussions. Mind you, Kate did contribute fairly, but I would be quicker to chirp up if I noticed some hesitation on her part or a partial glance towards me. I wonder if that in itself was because I knew that I knew the answers?
Tutorial over, and now I’m on the bus home. I have a few more things I need to do (like getting my laptop fixed, and I should really do some more study) but I‘ll probably end up writing about something entirely other than the psychology I’m supposed to be writing about. There is a rough gravitational point to most of my writing. It’s generally informed by my knowledge and interest in matters of psychology and spirituality, bringing in elements of creativity and self-development/examination. Often philosophically posed, and in overly poetic prose, I do have a sort of style that I like to write in – although I don’t always do so. It’s as if by allowing myself to write in this manner that I have to construct what I say in a certain way – not that I have to impose anything on it, but that it enforces some other level of processing than if I just write what comes to me (which I also do). Each style has its merit and function.
Sometimes I just can’t be bothered, you know, with all the word-smithing and over-analysis. Sometimes I just want to write whatever comes to mind, and not care if I start two consecutive sentences with the same word. Sometimes, I’ll say fuck it – make it three. My mood influences how I write, and as well what it is I have to say. This more direct style allows me to just get out what’s in my head – or rather what’s already on the tip of my tongue. If I take my time, and bother to bother about phrasing and structure, however, I’m more likely to process what I’m saying alongside with how I’m saying it. I wonder how distinct the two styles even are, since really one is just me writing more-or-less the words that come to me as they come to me, removed only from the other by a layer of processing and pedantry. One style, I suppose, is how I’d speak – or how I think I speak, maybe how I think is more apt an analogy – whereas the other is how I enjoy to write.
Anyway, I feel I’m rambling off on some tangent. Well, of course I’m rambling, and this was all a tangent, so it’s of little consequence. My stop is coming up, so I’ll stop here for now.