When social distancing suddenly became part of my vocabulary back in March, I had high expectations for the weeks ahead. With nearly every commitment erased from my calendar for the foreseeable future, I thought this might be an extraordinarily robust creative period. I would finally watch the films that have been on my list for years and would write long, eloquent posts about them. I might even venture back into the world of fiction writing. None of that happened.
I’ve hardly picked up a pen in the last three months. I could blame this on the absence of my favorite writing spots, busy coffee shops where I can set aside distractions and focus on the page in front of me. I could blame it on the global pandemic that has preoccupied my mind and sometimes made creativity a luxury I couldn’t afford. I could blame it on the strange and uncertain world around me, the new routines I’ve been forced to establish, the disappearance of social interactions that would usually inspire and refresh me. But, more honestly, I simply haven’t made writing my top priority–and I want that to change.
I still have plenty of days where I feel distracted and overwhelmed, but I miss writing. To ease back into the habit, I’m giving myself permission to write some briefer installments, to highlight some moments of joy with a little less formality. Because more than anything else, I want to return again to my original goal of finding delight and wonder on screen, to rejoice at beauty and laughter and truth wherever I discover it. I need that joy now more than ever.