I read. A lot. Books, blogs, reports, research. Tweets (of course). You name it; I read it. Throughout my adult life I’ve believed that I read because I’m curious. I’ve told myself and others that I read because I am a proud life-long learner.
Of course I am both of those things. But if, like me, you spend more time reading than doing, you may detect the deeper problem here — can you spot it?
Truth is, there is a deeper story. I read because I’m scared. I read to avoid what I do best, which is write. In my moment of truth I had to ask, am I really learning or simply running?
Do you read as a way to postpone real action? It’s cool if you don’t want to raise your hand. I’ll be honest; writing this blog post is uncomfortable. It stirs feelings of shame that here I am — with a God-given talent — and I’m not fully using it. I’m hiding in the pages of someone else’s good writing.
Eerily similar to “the dog ate my homework,” I have a perfectly good reason for allowing my blog to grow weeds. Pure and simple, it is the fault of technology.
As my laptop wheezed its way to certain death, my iPad was working a diabolical plot. With its hip energy and snuggle-in-bed-affection, it lured me into believing I (a writer) could live on iMac and iPad alone.
Simply put, I was left unfulfilled. I crave a clicky keyboard. I miss composing content in my PJs on the couch. Mobility seems crippled without multi-tasking.
I need a laptop.
Though I have lived and loved in an Apple world, my next laptop won’t bear the logo of the forbidden fruit. That’s not to say I’ll stop playing with apps (such as Blogsy) in my pursuit of writer mojo.
It does mean, though, that I’ll be back to blogging in my pajamas soon.