Stuck in The Suck
Don’t wanna. The blahs. Semi-annual BOGO sale on existential crises. Ennui (when you’re boring but also French). Stuck. In. The. Suck.
This is where I’ve been for the past few days. Staring at the megalodon-sized list of things I need to do and then suddenly wanting to take a nap. This is not typical for me, but it is familiar. At least twice a year (usually more like once a quarter) I endure a stretch of The Suck. The years have taught me that it’s temporary but that’s not always enough to call off the evil gnomes of self-flagellation and shame (yikes, even typing that word makes me squirm).
There are currently no less than nine open documents with blinking cursors taunting me about the speeches, articles, blogs, and courses I need to be writing. In suck-less times, I dive into these like a bathtub full of bunnies. I relish the fluffy feel-goods I get from turning ideas into words that prompt side-aching laughter and inspire “A-HA!s up the wahzoo!” (new slogan?).
Right now though, there’s just no juice.
Every word feels forced. Every idea feels backed up—like it ate too much cheese.
I think the part about this stretch I hate the most is not that it’s boring and soul-sucky, but that I’m boring and soul-sucky. Living inside my head is usually like perpetual Disneyland—joys and wonders around every corner! But during The Suck it’s more like hanging out in Gotham with its dirty skies and rooftop gargoyles. It’s gray matter blasé that somehow feels…damp? I am the saddest panda.
To get past it I do things like listen to uplifting podcasts and audiobooks (my normal undying love for the written word having effed off as much while reading as while writing). Get outside. Eat more fruit. Give myself a facial. All in an attempt to speed up the process and return to effervescence (Which makes me sound like a walking can of La Croix, doling out carbonated bubbles o’ joy. I like it.). Sometimes it works. This time, the weight of The Suck keeps popping all my damn joy bubbles.
The best advice I have for these moments when another mango or third sheet mask won’t cut it? Just let it ride, Clyde.
Even in the midst of a global pandemic, I know this feeling won’t last long. In a day—or an hour—a sexy little idea will zoom through my noodle and I’ll be back at it with the gusto of all the people trying to convince me to watch Tiger King. But for now, it’s all self-compassion, all the time… and maybe another banana… or some chocolate.
Holla at me! How are you holding up? What are your best tips and tricks for going toe-to-toe with Ye Olde Suckage? How can I support you? Drop a comment or an email and let me know!