Midnight Pub

On the evaporation of motivation

~inquiry

So many joy-inducing posts here of late! And I'm not typing only of my close encounters of the opossum kind.

I'm personally feeling in a bit of a writing rut. Not that words don't come to mind, mind you, but more the absence of sufficient motivation to get started.

For example, once upon a much younger time, the hope of tickling the fancy of a lass could drive endless industry: writing, learning/playing musical instruments and songs, various aspects of appearances.

But once you've experienced where the fancy of a lass (or whatever similar phrase more accurately describes your relationship to interpersonal romancing games) typically leads - i.e. to the point of no longer being able to conveniently forget it at the inception of yet another stroll down desire-fulfillment lane - it suddenly feels like a whole lot of disingenuity to persist therein.

But I typed "for example" for a reason, namely there being so much that once seemed so motivatingly important that no longer does. And it's damned hard to fake. And if/when you do, realizing it was just yet another bout of delusion is no fun either.

But.............. opossi!


sojourner

Preservation opposes venture.

I'm not easily motivated "by design", I think. Self–oriented perfectionism prevents me from taking up many projects (or following through with them) out of fear of failure and/or ridicule. It's a difficult trait to live with, let me tell you. But it has gotten worse over the past year. Maybe because of a lack of encounters with inspiring people there is just not enough drive to do interesting things myself. Burnout at work probably plays a significant role as well. This one seems to be more serious and something I need to think deeper about.

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oracle

I have so many ideas for projects lately and have not touched my memoir. I'm trying so hard to get back to it, but good old perfectionism demands new projects. I suppose the answer is to do both!

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maya

I've experienced something similar. The motivations that have flickered were never social, for me -- or at least never directly social. But in their place I find myself better able to tolerate necessities of adult living, which has enabled vast improvements to my life. I'm sure there's a way to talk about that that makes it a sad thing, but it's been such a relief.

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