Okay. So I've been writing these past couple of days/weeks; for work, not for fun that is. (Well actually also a bit for the fun of course. But I'll come back to that in a minute.)
I've also been having a very intense and emotionally disturbing time in my analysis (and that is: in my life). Not really a lot of fun, but kinda satisfactory nonetheless.
Both of which made me sort of incapable to write something here. So now I'm wondering if I have a sort of limit of writing/creative capacities (and also whether that exists in general, and not only for me). It seems that because I was busy with academic writing on the one, analysing my life in therapy on the other hand, I didn't feel the urge to write something here.
It's amazing how both of these activities are about analysis and interpretation; and this might be one of the most important reasons for my sympathy for psychoanalysis. I feel a very similar degree of satisfaction (or fun, as I would have it above) both in analysing a text and analysing myself; the pleasure culminating in the moment when you gain insight into something previously unclear or unknown to you. Things - almost suddenly and arbitrarily, out of the blue - fall into place, and you realize something you haven't realized before. Although this gnostic moment is of course no coincidence, but - in terms of psychoanalysis - the doing of the unconscious, revealed by the process of free association.
I've also been having a very intense and emotionally disturbing time in my analysis (and that is: in my life). Not really a lot of fun, but kinda satisfactory nonetheless.
Both of which made me sort of incapable to write something here. So now I'm wondering if I have a sort of limit of writing/creative capacities (and also whether that exists in general, and not only for me). It seems that because I was busy with academic writing on the one, analysing my life in therapy on the other hand, I didn't feel the urge to write something here.
It's amazing how both of these activities are about analysis and interpretation; and this might be one of the most important reasons for my sympathy for psychoanalysis. I feel a very similar degree of satisfaction (or fun, as I would have it above) both in analysing a text and analysing myself; the pleasure culminating in the moment when you gain insight into something previously unclear or unknown to you. Things - almost suddenly and arbitrarily, out of the blue - fall into place, and you realize something you haven't realized before. Although this gnostic moment is of course no coincidence, but - in terms of psychoanalysis - the doing of the unconscious, revealed by the process of free association.
Both are processes of sense-making, but without you yourself really knowing where that process will lead you. I believe the most pleasure is gained precisely from the fact that the insight somewhat surprises you. That way, even if you realize a negative thing, you still have some sort of "pleasure in knowing".
It's the same, finally, with this little piece right here; I started writing without know that this is where I would end. Right. Here.
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