Losing My Mojo, 2023, and Money Is Ruining My Life

Hey… it’s been a little while. A couple of months now, which isn’t really abnormal for me, but it’s felt for forever this time around. The new year has arrived, Christmas has been and gone. It’s been the first New Year I hadn’t spent with my family, which was weird, it did feel a little bit like I’d replaced my family with my boyfriend’s, but it was nice, nonetheless.

I’ve decided 2023 is going to be a good year. I can’t tell that for certain yet, but right now it already feels a bit better than 2022, but simultaneously it feels so much worse. Losing my mojo is one way to put it, I think. Feeling like everything I like isn’t so fun anymore, nothing’s satisfying, the days are merging into an endless cycle of sleeping and sitting and sleeping and sitting. I’m not doing much in those sitting phases, because nothing’s really taking my fancy anymore. Writing feels like a chore, there’s nothing good on TV, the words in my books feel like they’re 10x longer than they actually are. Mojo gone. Motivation lost. I wouldn’t call it a depression, not yet, it’s a bit empty in here but it’s not terrible.

I’ll catch you up on what I mean by that. Last time you checked I was at university. Not anymore. Me trying to convince myself the crying will get better just ended up with me crying a bit more. Add in the realisation I can’t afford to live second year and the job crisis of young kids nowadays where you need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience if they don’t give you a job. Didn’t seem worth it, I hated my course anyway, and I realised I am far more introverted than I make out in my head. I dropped out. I don’t regret it, not really, I was miserable there and I like being home with Mum and Dad and having my bed and my boyfriend close and my best friend closer. I wasn’t prepared for the slump though. I’ve been out of Uni since the end of November, middle of? I’m not sure anymore. I’ve been looking for a job since then, and money runs low quicker than I expected. I’m still unemployed and I can barely fund my caffeine addiction with the money left in my bank account now.

There’re things I miss about Uni, going to the bar every now and again, living on my own schedule, being able to walk into the middle of campus and grab some food and coffee and not feel bad because I actually really don’t have any alternatives in my kitchen cupboards. I think I forgot that everyone at home have lives too. I missed home and the people, and then I got home and everyone was busy and their lives didn’t just stop because mine had. That’s been the worst bit, the boredom. Boredom mixed with not much money. That and having no one to go do things with even if I did have money. I mean Jack’s here, Jack is always here, and I appreciate that, that he’s always here when I’m bored. But even with company, which has become just normal now, that he’s always here and it doesn’t feel like he is anymore. Does that make sense? It sounds bad but I like it, it’s comfortable and he’s just here. Anyway, even with company I still get antsy to get out. And there’s nothing to do, not where we live and not with not much money. Cost of living crisis man, ruining my sense of adventure.

I’ve decided 2023 is going to be good though. I’m going to get a job, very soon hopefully, then the money crisis won’t be so bad. Life really is determined by money, isn’t it? I don’t believe money can buy happiness, I mean you can’t buy your severe depression away, but it helps, doesn’t it? My happiness comes from exploring new cities, from meals out, from friends and the outside. Not hiking, I’m not an exercise person, but I like to be outside rather than sat inside in my room, I’d just rather be walking down a Highstreet than up a mountain.

There’s a lot going on this year really. Seeing my favourite band in concert, seeing my favourite comedian live, getting my first tattoo. Another couple of concerts, playing to my inner emo side that was my entire personality at 14. I want to travel this year, drag Jack to London because we’ve talked about moving there one day but he’s never been. The family holiday in June after my brother finishes his GCSEs, a week I reckon will be full of humble bragging on his behalf. Hopefully a trip to Paris with Georgia because we’ve always wanted to go, and to Barcelona with Jack just because we can. Looking at it from the start of the year, I have a good year ahead of me. I’m just hoping I can fill the boring parts in between.

I turn 20 this year, which makes me feel a bit ill to think about. It’s like all of a sudden, I can’t get away with being a kid anymore. I have to get a full-time adult job, pay rent, my parents are going on holiday without me now. I’m being trusted to run the house by myself for more than a couple of hours at a time. One of my friends is getting fucking married this year. My best friend is moving to Leeds. I think that’s why I’m so determined to make 2023 good, because in some ways it feels like my last year of semi-childhood. 20 seems so different to 19. I am so sure it won’t feel like that when I get to it. But right now, it's like time is running out. I think it felt the same last year because it was ‘the last year before we all moved on’. It is different now to what it was, but I think it doesn’t feel so drastic because I was still in school and it felt just the same. Yes, half my friends are now scattered around, but really none of the important ones have gone that far. And I’ve ended up right back where I started.

I’ve fallen out of love with writing. I’ve had an iffy relationship with it for a while. It used to be a big part of my life, more Wattpad than anything really, and that happened because one of my best friends was in it too. It was like we’d do it together and because she was doing it, I wanted to do it too. I haven’t spoken to her in a while, life moves on, people move on. But inspiration lacks. I realised a long time ago that fiction writing wasn’t my calling, it’s fun every now and again but not something I could ever dedicate my life to. That’s when I started the non-fiction, the reviews, the life writing, the blogging. That was fun for a while. It’s still what I prefer. I like to talk about myself, because myself is the only thing I really know. But then nothing was happening, and reviews weren’t fun anymore because school has always taught me to counter my argument and I start to wonder if I actually have an opinion at all. It only happens in writing, when I’m trying to sophisticatedly prove my point, I start countering. And then I counter too well, and I ruin whatever I’m reviewing for myself because do I really like it if I can find so much wrong with it? It’s weird when I can angrily rant about how much I love or hate something in a text conversation to a friend, and I can debate the fuck out of my opinion and stick to it. But writing a review I start to forget what an opinion really is.

I don’t know if part of the problem was coming out of a creative writing degree. I like writing to prompts, university didn’t give you that, but you were all still writing the same. You start to compare your ability, of course you do, you sit in that seminar and let other people interrogate you and rip your writing to pieces and little parts of you die inside. But that’s the creative process. My sensitive little heart isn’t cut out for that, I question if I’m any good at this as it is. Then the lectures just take the process and make it technical. Then it’s boring, and you have to think about things you just do naturally, and then writing becomes a job not something fun. You lose your mojo. I want it back, I want it to be fun again. So often it just feels like I have nothing to really talk about, not when these rambly pieces about my life and state of mind are the only things I like writing anymore. I want to be able to use this style on other things, blog properly, about things that matter to me. But what matters to me? I’m not too sure, still films? Celebrity culture? But how do I make that sound like it matters? I suppose when I figure that out and I can put that into words my mojo will come back.

It’s hard when I realise, I’ve neglected my only actual hobby. We think because I have nothing going on with my day, I’m starting to use what I once found fun as time fillers now, so they’re not really fun anymore. Because that’s all I’m doing and it’s not just leisure anymore, it just is. I think maybe when I get a life back, get a job, get a real distraction, these things will become leisure again. I’ll start writing again and enjoying it, I’ll start reading and the words will finally start to look real. I’ll get back to that this year, because 2023 is going to be a good year. I will will it so.