I just went online to look up ‘writer’s block’.

Out of sheer curiosity.

There are different definitions (of course) for this feared phenomenon, but what it comes down to is ‘the condition of being unable to think of what to write or how to proceed with writing’.

I even found a description that called it an ‘affliction’, which is ‘something that causes agony, suffering, or great pain’.

Oh man.

I have vague memories of dealing with this.

Watching a blinking cursor, anxiously scraping the mind for stuff to write about.

Waiting for inspiration to hit, I guess.

The right words, the perfect story.

Fingers impatiently hovering over a keyboard.

Vague memories, like I said.

So why doesn’t that happen to me anymore?

How did I cure myself of writer’s block?

Well, I don’t know if I did.

I guess I just had some unhelpful ideas or beliefs about writing and creating.

I didn’t know you can simply switch it on by getting your hands dirty.

Five minutes ago I was in a bit of a mirky place.

Writing always gets me out of that (and I wanted out), so I decided to go and write.

No topic, no clue, no problem.

The thing is: I have no expectations about a certain standard or uniqueness, or writing ‘good stuff’.

When I write, I just write.

I don’t think about the people that might read it, and I don’t think about making an impact or a difference in the world, because that stuff only makes it complicated.

When I write, I just write.

I know that every single time I open up a blank page on my computer, something will occur to write about.

I’m not looking for brilliance; I’m just jotting down words.

I like being in the process, the arising of things, the ‘now there’s nothing, and now there’s a whole page of stuff’.

There’s no responsibility for me, no pressure, no need to improve anything.

I just use what I get.

And I always get something.

But it’s never writer’s block.

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(Photo by @ryansnaadt, for Unsplash)