Lately I worry not about writer's block, but about thinker's block. Feeler's block, even. The things I want to write about -- whether personal, like my grandfather's death, or of national significance, like Ferguson -- seem unreachable. I cannot access the thoughts, the emotions, necessary to grapple with these issues. I feel numb.
It might be that I've been otherwise preoccupied, what with school and work. It might be that I've set too high a standard for myself, an expectation that all my thoughts and feelings be, at the very least, marginally novel. Or maybe I don't have enough zinc or copper or some other essential micronutrient in my diet lately. I honestly don't know.
What I do know is that I do not feel good. Not writing, not thinking, not feeling is not for me. Numbness should never last for more than a minute, it should be an indicator of a brilliant winter's freeze, or the sudden loss of the intense sensations experienced by an otherwise active limb. It should not be a state of being. It is not a state for living.
Tomorrow, I will begin to grapple with life and death, liberty and equality. I will submerge myself in iciest waters and the most searing fires for that is where you write, and where you grow.