I used to think it easy to write every day. All it takes, I thought, is to think of the most interesting thing that happened that day, and to describe why it was interesting. That was back when I wrote every day. I was younger then. When you’re young, everything that happens is automatically more interesting to you, because it hasn’t happened to you very many times. It was easier, then, for me to see things as new and interesting.
In addition to the novelty of youth, I also had quite a bit more travel in my life then. It is difficult to describe the feeling of being in a new place all by itself, without also describing the place, but for me anyway, there’s a feeling that all new places have to them. The details are more apparent. You think about the place you’re in more distinctly, when it is a new place, than you do when you have it memorized. Once you have it memorized, you’re not thinking about it anymore — you’re remembering it, and there isn’t much need for new thoughts during a memory.
Now, I live in a city where I’ve been for six years, in a house located in the same neighborhood where I work, a neighborhood which I rarely leave, to be honest. (Even so, I can’t say that I’m well acquainted with the other people who live and work in my neighborhood. My ability to make friends is oddly unpredictable. I’m good at it, when I want to be, I suppose, but I can’t control when or whether I’ll want to be, on any given day.) Some days, I’m just going through the motions. Learning the motions is intersting. On the other hand, going through the motions automatically can get awfully boring.
This is all an elaborate way of saying that it’s time to take a vacation, I think. It’s time to get out of the neighborhood, to go someplace where I’ve never been, to meet new people and to do new things.