A person who writes experiences life differently. The power of words to stimulate, express, relieve, draw attention to, and acknowledge something’s worth empowers a writer to touch the world’s pulse of anxiety or beauty or truth, and capture it. When I write, my thought life is always active. I mull, probe, analyze, and sum ideas up constantly. I look at my kid and think about writing. I work on the budget and plan a blog about personal finance. I read articles and craft responses. I listen to a sermon or an interview and transcribe parts I find poignant. I connect concepts and bridge ideas. A study of Elijah becomes a Googling of jihad, which leads to reading about women in the Middle East, and ends with research on immigration. It’s kind of amazing.
Most of the time, all this thinking about writing stays in my brain. Occasionally it eeks out through ink and gets itself seen in words, and those are the times I feel most at peace with myself. I used to journal my prayers, and that became one of the only ways I could pray. With a lack of time to myself with a pen and paper (I spend way too much time working on the computer), I have since gotten away from regular journaling. My prayer life seems much less tangible because I don’t see my prayers as things of permanence—they merely wander off into the atmosphere instead of proving their existence as when I harness them into written words—but it does feel a little more free, too, since my brain has always roamed faster than I could write. I guess everything has its give and take.
When I write, I get to see a little bit of myself, and I like me more. In a weird way, reading what I’ve written operates as a sort of mirror; the words reflect back a small piece of my thoughts, emotions, and way of being. Seeing myself made permanent in this way makes me feel like I’ve slowed time down a bit, and for a moment I am just me instead of mommy or wife or coach or teacher or cleaner or banker or any number of roles I’ve assigned myself. When I feel jumbled or confused, I gain focus from writing. From focus comes understanding, and from understanding acceptance. I can look back at what I wrote and remember exactly where (and probably, who) I was when I wrote it.
I guess I’m telling myself I should really write more often.
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