I’m uninspired and that’s fine, actually.

I had therapy today. In the context of this therapeutic conversation, I realized something:

I’ve been holding myself to 2020 standards of creative output.

You know, 2020. The year the pandemic officially hit the US. The year I got to work from home. The year I was literally forced to take a week off because we were all going to have too much PTO otherwise. I was in a very privileged position and I had an insane amount of time on my hands.

2020 was the year that I realized I’m bad at being passively entertained. In the absence of constantly being out of the house, I constantly needed to be doing something. So I stretched my ears, made my first battle jacket (or maybe that was in 2021…the years all blend together), started a YouTube channel, and published my first book. All because I finally had the time and the boredom required to do so.

The year is now 2025. I’m back to over-booking myself. My amazing boyfriend is hiking the Appalachian Trail. Before he left, I said to myself,

“I’ll have so much free time. I’m going to get some writing done.”

But that hasn’t happened.

That lightning strike of inspiration hasn’t hit me.

And maybe that’s fine.

I wrote all of my books when I was bored, romantically lonely, and in a state of longing. I’m no longer any of those things. I used to write about healthy relationships I wished I was in, and now I’m in one. The circumstances are different and the inspiration will be, too, whenever it strikes me.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? I don’t know when it will strike me. Or if it will.

And I’m learning to be okay with that.

I’m in a much better place in life than I was when I first started publishing books. 2020 was the worst year of my adult life. 2024, in contrast, was one of the best.

When I was single - as I was for the greater part of the last 6 or so years - I was lowkey afraid that, if I ever did enter into a relationship again, I would lose my drive to create. And… I guess my past self was right.

But also, I’m in a different place in life overall. A much better place. My storm phobia is barely existent and my social calendar is full. My weekends haven’t been free. It turns out that all those years I spent in internet relationships in my teens paid off - I’m really good at long distance relationships. :P Therefore, my current relationship is as healthy as ever, despite the distance.

This country is also in dramatically worse than it was in 2024, which I think is another factor holding me back. Writing isn’t sufficiently escapist for me at the moment - I need to immerse myself into the world of The Sims, where everyone is presumed pansexual* and everyone is fine with it. I need to create real-world connections with real people to stop myself from doomscrolling. I need to be touching grass more than a keyboard.

*Well, it was that way until that one update that introduced sexuality and gender identity and, with it, rejection. That’s been annoying.

Anyway, the point is, I’m not writing. I mean, I’m writing this blog post, but I’m not writing books at the moment. I’m still creating - I made a pretty cool multilingual doormat on Zazzle recently - but I may not come out with a new book in 2025.

And I need to stop holding myself to 2020 standards of creative output. It’s not 2020 anymore (thank GOD) so of course I won’t be creating under the same circumstances. And maybe that means not writing at all.

When I wrote the books I’ve written, I had a deep sense of longing - both for regular life and for romantic love. I was bored. I had too much time on my hands. I was living in a constant daydream. And then, one day, I would get a sudden flash of inspiration, and I would actually have the time to sit down and write it out while I still had the energy. Inspiration, for me, expires quicker than milk.

What I mean is, the ingredients I have to work with are different. I don’t know when inspiration will strike again, or if it ever will, or if I’ll be able to act on it. I’m not even obsessed with any bands right now! That feels weird.

But this is all FINE, actually.

I’ve been feeling a self-imposed pressure to write something, but that doesn’t inspire me, so I’m letting it go.

I’m currently a blank slate, someone with vague creative urges that go wherever they go.

AND THAT’S FINE.

Every creative person experiences dips like this. Some last longer than others. I can’t keep agonizing, wondering how long this dip will last. So…I’m not going to.

See you when I see you,

Janvier Olszon. <3