I’ve been taking a lot of writing projects lately. They’re good for me, you know. A task, a guideline, a direction to take. And I’ve enjoyed them all. They’ve grown me—honed my craft a bit. But there’s always something so much more pure about me, just sitting with a blank page and no rules. Just writing what’s in my head and on my heart.
I haven’t done enough of that lately. It’s probably why I’ve been in a funk. Sometimes I don’t know what’s in my own mind until I write it all out on paper and read it back to myself. I’ve always been that way.
When you feel like you might be losing yourself in the thick of it all—in the routines, the schedules, the “have to’s” then make sure you take that time to go back to the thing that makes you, you.
Writing has always been that for me. Since I was a little girl. Funny, I have pages of scratchings from the time I could hold a pencil. I was an early talker. Early reader. Early writer. Had a lot of words in me, I guess you could say. And it’s no wonder, really, I’m from a family of writers. Every single one of us. We live for long, deep conversations and philosophical exercises. You could always find us on a Friday evening, in the living room, just talking it out. We weren’t afraid to disagree—we did understand the value in healthy debate. But it was intelligent. I had to work to keep up. They say that one of the most important things you can do for yourself is to be the least intelligent person in the room. I suppose I was set up for success then if that’s how we’re measuring it.
I miss that. I miss the long conversations and the genuine asking of, “How are you?” while knowing that the one asking it truly cares to know the answer. We live in a world where we’re all clamoring to tell everyone how we feel, but none of us are fighting to ask it of anyone else. We want desperately to show our worth, but no one is readily offering to instill our value.
Anyways, I won’t talk your ear off tonight. I guess I just needed a few minutes to let my fingers put some tangibility to these thoughts. I’ve been meaning to blog again—but time keeps running away with me. Today I thought I’d do the one thing I know how to do when I’m not getting around to something. I just did it.
Here’s to a weekend of taking my own advice, of remembering to make time for the things that make my time worthwhile. And for seeking out the greatest of conversations, and the people who make me feel valuable.
Until next time.