After a lifetime of using words to express my thoughts and emotions, it seems strange to struggle for words. But for the last six months or so, that’s been the case. Writer’s block? No. Just no motivation to write. I don’t know if it’s the battle with lyme disease robbing me of expressiveness, or just a phase in my life.
I used to keep a diary, a journal of things I experienced. But I guess that was one of those crazy spells in my life where I was afraid I would forget something important. Now I have sixty years of experiences, too many to remember, and I’m not even interested much in remembering them.
I’ve never been someone who likes to look back. I don’t page through old photo albums or scrapbooks. The last time I kept any sort of scrapbook was high school.
I have boxes of photos taken over the years, watching the kids grow, moving from house to house, whatever life changes happened. Now I have a camera on my cellphone and I haven’t used it more than a dozen times in the last six months. Is it because I haven’t seen anything interesting? No. I have relished beautiful sunrises and sunsets and opening flowers and thunderstorms. But somehow I don’t feel any urge to “record” those memories. I have them stored on my internal hard drive in my head, for better or worse. But I just don’t reach out to share those experiences anymore, and I wonder why…