the art of being unmotivated.

Lately, I’ve found myself staring at a blank page often.

Or a page full of half thoughts, where at one point I was brimming with ideas, never to be returned to again.

Frustrated, tired, and yet filled with so many emotions I don’t know how to convey. Burnout in a burnt out world.

I’ve been waiting for the motivation to find me, or better yet for me to find it. But all I’ve been left with lately is more and more blank pages.

Carrie Bradshaw, Sex and the City

I’ve been racking my brain, digging deep for the source of my mental fatigue. Burdened by everything going on in the world, from looming wars to conspiracy theories to the latest social-political scandal that goes without repercussions. Drained from 9-5 workdays that require you to be always-on, and then trying to reclaim your 5-9. Weekends with surges of social battery, 3 am nights, and a cluster of people to fill your every waking moment. At this point, have we come up with any other words for exhaustion?

But lately, I’ve found myself staring at these blank pages.

And thinking maybe my lack of motivation isn’t always a bad thing. My cup is so full, it runs over with a community I couldn’t be more thankful for. A job that still feels like a job, but doesn’t make me hate my existence in a corporate-filled world. A city filled with opportunities and experiences that sometimes I’d rather dance all night or wander through store aisles, than stare at another screen and will my thoughts to turn into meaningful words.

So is being unmotivated really that bad?

I know that when I have something to say, the words will find me. The tangle of half-evoked feelings and brain fog that seem like a plague will clear. And I’ll return to the point of saying too much, but feeling like I haven’t said enough.

But for now, I’ll revel in the feeling of being unmotivated. I’ll stay present. I’ll be intentional.

And I’ll probably find myself staring at more blank pages.