Hey, 

You’re about to find out, in many more words than necessary, that I am burnt out. Oh, and I don’t want to be writing right now. So, welcome, you’re entering an essay written in some of the worst creative conditions. Enjoy.

As many of you know, I just moved. I have been at my new place for about a month, but as a routine-oriented person, a month is a long time to be out of whack. I have spent the last few weeks getting a handle on things, new routines, new grocery stores, and finally having a general idea of where all of my shit is. I had just finally felt that I was doing that before, then I moved. 

During the weeks leading up to my sudden and seemingly impulsive move to a new city, I did my best to keep up with my otherwise overflowing schedule, but some things fell through the cracks, and the list grew exponentially. In all, I kept most of my old routine overlapping this new one in the guise of discipline. I've lived two lives for weeks now. I’ve clung to an old order while the new one is being built. Sort of necessary in theory, very exhausting in practice. It didn’t last.

In my life, I thrive in the active pursuit of living as well as I possibly can. I was reminded very young that time is not worth ‘wasting’ (not a great mentality, but that’s for another day), and you should probably go after what you want now rather than later. I have these worries too, that I am not living my life well enough. 

Growing up, I’ve come to notice very quickly when I feel out of alignment. It tends to happen the same way: I feel weird, I let go of self-care, and I dig my nails into the shoulds; the activities, hobbies, habits and beliefs I should have but I don’t (at least not at that moment). I told myself to keep writing, keep filming my videos, see my friends, and drop the pace only incrementally. Compromise well-being for the singular greater goal. I don’t necessarily regret it, but I’m certainly paying the price, or rather, I have been. 

But suddenly, I wasn’t drinking enough water, getting enough sleep, and the boundaries I’d spent all year developing with myself fell to the wayside. I was tired, and I confused the burnout for a sign that I needed to stop entirely, not reflect on what I had dropped.

It was not my first instinct to remember to turn my phone off long before I went to bed, to commit to the stretches that alleviate the tension in my body. It was certainly beyond the scope of my imagination that these were what I had stopped doing. I wondered why I no longer wanted to write, and that maybe I ought to stop trying (and sometimes that is the answer!). 

So, I didn't want to write, but now I'm writing, why? Though I’m burnt out, I’m just as burnt out by the idea that I cannot bring myself to write as I am by the desire to avoid writing entirely. I am far too tired of feeling far too tired. So I guess I’ll take my vitamins. I’ll drink my water. I’ll do my stretches. I’ll write. I’ll do more so that doing more doesn’t feel as heavy later on. I’ll pressure myself to commit again, and I’ll try again to find balance.

You see, I cannot make these opposing fatigues equally happy and resting in a stressful way is not the same thing as actively resting. I cannot tell myself any longer that the issue is the consistent writing, or the regularity of my pursuit of creativity or the things I love so much, while ignoring the fact that my engagement in other activities that improve my life and my experience of living has decreased. 

Discipline is not working every minute of every day; it is a commitment to balance. In this way, it is a commitment to myself, to my goals (which include delivering an essay like this to you every two weeks) and knowing when the tiredness I feel is misdirected. I cannot let one fatigue reign over the other. I am too tired to write. I am tired of not writing. I know showing up here makes a difference. 

The reality is, I feel good knowing I’ve maintained this commitment to myself and you. It is not coming at the expense of my well-being, but rather forcing me to confront where the proverbial leak in the boat is. I’m not just displacing buckets of water to keep from sinking; I’m patching the hole. 

I have thought in the last few weeks that maybe I can’t do this. Maybe I can’t commit to writing the way I wanted to, or I can't commit to this goal of bringing you here and talking to you as often as I do. I’ve thought that maybe this is it. Maybe it’s been five years of trying, maybe I’ve paid my dues, and it’s time to step back from writing and art altogether. But that’ll never happen. Being here and talking to you all is what brings me tremendous joy, and it reminds me of why I am here at my computer (despite crying from overwhelm while doing the dishes this morning). 

The real and honest truth, my friend, is that I had a different plan for this essay. I’ve grown too burnt out to notice that the reason I couldn’t bring myself to write was because burnout fuels apathy, and when you’re apathetic towards your passions, life is rather grim. I don’t need to stop answering the call to write or paint or try to make my life simpler. I only need to know when to shut my computer and focus on getting my bearings elsewhere. I have made promises to myself, and it’s time to prove that I can keep them (with a general degree of reason and self-compassion). I am not sacrificing myself, though I am certainly making compromises. It’s not just writing, it’s fueling myself so I can keep writing.

I find it hard to talk about discipline and burnout. Where balance takes place is a hard thing to surmise (and it is incredibly subjective). I do not want to come here and tell you to push yourself beyond your limits or to give up, but perhaps notice when your limits have been pushed or when giving up is only instinctual regression. Pay attention to the promises you’ve made yourself and how often you prove that you are worth committing to them. It doesn’t have to be big, but it must be your best; just do your best.

The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz is an incredible book (that I cannot reference too accurately because I lent the book to a man years ago who probably never even read it; his loss), but I will not go too far into it. Be impeccable with your word is one of the four parts of this overall code of conduct. It wants you to mean something when you say it. Mean what you say when you say you’re going to show up for yourself. For rest, for sustenance, believe yourself when you say you’ll do the thing, because you will. Commit to your goals with integrity, which is not always easy, but it is consistent and solid. Show your responsibility as your own friend and take note of burnout. Do not sacrifice your well-being for the burnout; feed yourself as best you can. Rest is active; we have to make ourselves rest intentionally in every sense of the word. Invest the little energy you have into regaining your vitality. You do not need to stay reduced to ember, give this all air, spaciousness, let it reignite.

So, in this essay that I didn’t want to write, I’ll tell you that I’m going to do it anyway, and I’m going to keep showing up for those of you who come here to read my words. It means everything to me that you’re here. Though I am tired and incredibly in need of energetic repair, I know how important it is that I stay here, because I promised myself I would. I’ll do what I said I would, I’ll put effort into showing up the way I wanted to. I’ll try my best.

Take care,

Sami