On (a lack of) motivation to do... anything

What it's like to write a book when goals and deadlines feel pointless.

Hi, friends! Instead of my usual life updates roundup, I’ve decided to spend this week talking about one thing, and one thing only: motivation. Or rather, the lack thereof.

As I write this, it’s the first Monday of the new year—a day that’s always rough to get through, but especially so in 2021, when we’re still in the midst of a pandemic. Usually, the pain of coming back to work after the holidays is tempered by the excitement of the year ahead: the goals you’ll reach, the places you’ll travel to, the milestones you’ll hit. This year, though, the future is a big, hazy unknown, with the only certainty being that for at least the next few months, life will be just as repetitive and blegh as it was in 2020.

Depressing, right? It’s the truth, though, and as I’m sure many of you know, it’s really hard to stay motivated when all the days blur together into one monotonous, tiresome mess. That new self-care routine you wanted to start? Why bother, if you’re just gonna be in the house all day. That journal you planned to keep? What’s the point, if every day’s basically the same. Those books you meant to read? It’s not like you’re running out of time, so might as well keep putting them off. Etc., etc., etc.

For me, the biggest motivational struggle right now is with my book. As you all know, I’m in the process of writing a novel, but since I don’t yet have an agent or publisher, there’s no one making sure I turn in my pages and get the thing finished. Sure, my family and friends might ask how things are going occasionally or encourage me to continue, but at the end of the day, the only person who can actually force me to keep going is… me. And finding that kind of self-motivation is really difficult right now.

Same, girl.

In the Before Times, I’d keep myself focused while working on a writing project by setting word count goals and forcing myself to write every day, even if it was just a few words. And slowly but surely, I’d get the thing done—even if it meant staying up later than I wanted some nights or writing crappy paragraphs I knew I’d end up deleting later on. I fit in writing whenever I could: in the mornings before work, in the subway during my commute, on trains and planes whenever I traveled. Life was busy, but I wanted to write, so I did.

Now, though, everything is different. I still love writing, of course, and I want just as badly—if not more—as my past self did to get my work out in the world. But there’s just so much time now. Yes, I have my full-time job, but without commutes, after-work events, and everything else, there are so many other hours when writing could, theoretically, get done. And sometimes, it does! I turn off the TV at 10 and write for a bit before bed, or I make notes in the car while my fiancé drives us to the dog park.

But mostly, those hours sit unused. I want to work on my book, I know I should work on my book, but without the pressure of having to fit in writing around the rest of my busy life, the motivation to actually do it is minimal. I have all the time in the world—why get a few hundred words in tonight when I could do it tomorrow, or over the weekend, or never?

Each night I don’t write, I feel guilty. I know I should be taking advantage of all these extra hours, not wasting them, but writing requires hard work, and deep thinking, and real effort—all things in limited supply these days. It’s so much easier to just watch more TV or read someone else’s book than put the effort into my own, even though becoming an author is the thing I want most in the world, that I’ve always wanted most. It’s beyond frustrating, but as the pandemic goes on, the more stuck I feel.

Why am I sharing this? It’s not because I’m searching for answers; I’m fully aware that there are practices I can try to get myself more motivated, like making those word count goals again or setting up some self-imposed deadlines. I’m telling you all this because I bet that many of you are in the same boat—if not with a novel, then perhaps with some other project you’re working on or goal you told yourself you’d hit. This lack of motivation is certainly not unique to me, nor is the frustration and disappointment it causes.

So, if you’re in a similar situation, know that you’re not alone. And let’s help each other together, okay? Tell me about what you’re working on, and I promise that I’ll check in sometimes to encourage you to continue or ask about your progress. We could all use a hand right now, and I’m more than happy to give one.

Send me a message if you’d like, and regardless, thanks for reading. With love,

Rachel