On My Struggle to Think and Write

I’m writing this right now specifically because I do not feel like writing anything.

This is, unfortunately, nothing new. I feel as thought I’ve been in a mental fog for much of 2024. More specifically, I’ve been feeling this fog since I relocated to Northern Alaska. I currently reside in a very remote village. It’s the type of village that requires its residents and its few visitors to fly in, because there are no roads that lead to this place.

It’s been a hard-fought battle ever since I first realized the extent of this mental stagnation. I don’t recall many things I’ve learned in recent years. I can’t think straight, nor read very fast. I’ve been trying to accept these newfound limitations, but I continue to understand what those limitations are, exactly. And why now? Is there something magical about this place in which I now reside, something that zaps my mental energy and robs me of what little wit I could muster on occasion? It’s as though I’ve entered into this region, crossed a barrier into a land that drains the individual of their ability to think and dream and write. Of course, I’m perhaps the only one affected, as everyone else around me appears to be doing quite well and performing quite ordinarily.

I can’t say for sure regarding the experiences of others, obviously. I’m sure that, absent my willingness to verbalize and externalize the extent of my lackadaisical and perhaps condescendingly meager struggle, an average passerby would be entirely unaware of this thing that’s hurting me so much. Which further begs the question, why does it hurt so much? I’m surrounded by individuals with greater struggles than my own. In my line of work, I hear from these individuals their objectively horrendous traumas and pains. Does mine mean that much?

So, we’ve got a whole lot of questions and hardly an answers. Actually, we’ve got no answers, just some hard and soft maybes floating around. I think about my current environment often. It lacks any significant stimulus. In other words, to put it into a different perspective, I used to commute more miles in a single day than I commute now in a single month. That’s significantly less change in my environment on a regular basis. Additionally, I had more restaurants within my small zip code previously than I do now in the entire region. I had significantly less opportunity to spend in public than I used to. I have fewer social gatherings and opportunities to socialize than have I ever. That lack of stimulation and variety, surely, contributes to some of this mental recession. Additionally, this region finds itself bathed in darkness for upwards of 20 hours a day. What little light shines through is not from direct sunlight. It’s residual light shining over the horizon. The darkness has wreaked havoc to my psyche in recent weeks. That, surely, provides something additional explanation, too.

Surely. Right? It’s a guess. I’ve made one trip back home since moving here. I don’t recall any meaningful alleviation, but that was only after a couple of weeks. And, in any case, that was also a mere three months after making this move. Generally, I felt better then. In other words, it’s been getting worse in the last couple of months and doubly so in the last month.

What have I learned from this? Thus far, it proves itself true that I just need to try. No matter what. Now, that is hard for me. I don’t like to do things unless I know I can do them well. Well, as in, meet some kind of minimum standard of excellence that I provide for myself under no external pressure. That means, during this time in my life, I need to lower that standard for myself. I have to be graceful toward myself, a skill at which I am not exceptionally well-versed. But, truly, anything is better than nothing.

This blog post is a prime example of this lowering of standards. I have no exceptional commentary. I have no wit or insightful analogies to offer. I have very little to tender or propose for public consumption, outside this humble expression of vulnerability and introspection. I can only hope that this time of mental fog and fatigue is temporary, perhaps, inexplicably so, unique to this region and by extension, this time of my life.

Writing this, much like writing anything at all, has given me something to do today. A place to relinquish some of the troubled thoughts and ruminations inside my head.

In my most previous post, I discussed those little things that help keep us going, that empower us to rebel against the meaninglessness of life.

This is a little bit of that, for me.

I’ll sit here, sipping my coffee and writing. It’s better than the alternative.

Header photo courtesy of Unsplash.