Empty

As a 'word person' it's rather disconcerting to be without words. I don't mean speachless, as in being so full of emotion that words cannot compass the fullness of feeling. I mean the opposite actually.
I usually have a dialogue or scenario in progress running through my mind like the crawl on CNN - topics to go, as it were. Of late I've been empty: uninspired for content and unimpressed with what I have produced. There are things to write about, such as the American Idol phenomenon - this singing competition that had nearly 100 million voters on its final night. Where were those votes last November? Or the challenge of being a Catholic who desires to find the trick of being in the world, but not of the world, without a religious vocation. Or the sadness my summer job brings me, for it emphasizes the broken nature of our society, the reality of which I am usually able to reduce to abstraction for my own comfort. Or the fact that for the past week or more I have been deliberately pushing feelings about my dad away. Perhaps that is the source of all the emptiness?
When I first began blogging, it felt self-indulgent to me. Who on earth would be interesting in my rambles? Who am I to think I have anything of interest to say? The fact is, I am a writer by nature. Writing is both how I create and how I communicate, so it is essential to my wellbeing that I do it well. Being at peace is good. Being empty of words is a sign that something is off kilter.
Many artists - actors, painters, singers, writers - are introspective and introverted people. To be such a person and have the product of your soul's anguish on display is rather like standing naked in the window of Macy's. I don't particularly enjoy that position, but if what I'm writing is real, then there is always a piece of me in it, regardless the topic. I can write about American Idol and still reveal some truth about myself to a reader, without even mentioning me. Likewise, I can write a well crafted piece about Catholics in the workplace, or the joys of five boys under one roof, and and not say one thing that really matters, because the words came from this place of emptiness.
Uncomfortably, I'm realizing that I don't want to be the latter. I'm happy writing about banality like Hollywood blockbusters and vapid television as long as it is honest in its intention (and would be thrilled to write something of real meaning, believe me) What this means is that I have to guard against the emptiness - no easy task. I've written before about really embracing life, about not merely existing but being fully alive. That takes effort! But it will be worth it. I think that no matter what it is that you do in life, it becomes more than it is if you are not empty.