I was sitting outside of a café yesterday, journal splayed before me, iced coffee just a reach away, with the spring sun shining down on my bare skin, when a stylish older woman approached me.
In a world so apparently afraid to approach strangers, hesitant to start a conversation without fear of being shied away or ignored, it was a welcome gesture that I happily reciprocated.
See, I am currently writing this from my new home in California.
Yes, I've been here near a week now and it's taken me this long to sit down and catch up.
I can't say I've been busy. Yes, there's the whole moving in project and acclimating myself in a new environment, but I don't have my job interviews until later this week so I've been... free.
And it wasn't until this woman approached me that I felt compelled to catch up with you.
See, I’ve been waiting. Waiting for what? Well, good copy. I kept saving my first post until I felt there was an adventure worth talking about, continually searching for something to inspire me.
Really though, the content was there all along. It's been inside me since the moment I said my bittersweet and heartfelt goodbye to Alaska and all I love in it, it was with me as I made the drive across the state with my grandma, taking myself one step closer to my new home, and it has since been with me through the multiple (yes, multiple) cry sessions I've had in my room (and in public) as I went through what it felt like to be an adult.
It was this lady, this chic, wise, older lady, that reminded me of why I write in the first place.
Writing is therapeutic. It's good old-fashioned storytelling, and it brings me peace and comfort in a world where I sometimes feel alone. The second I whip out my pen, or the second my fingers take their position on the keyboard, the faucet turns on and the words come tumbling out. Sometimes, they don't make sense. Sometimes what's inside of me causes my vision to blur as I put my thoughts into words, and sometimes, I can't write fast enough, overwhelming excitement taking over the slower than accepted rate at which I can keep up.
There's all this pressure in the world to be someone, to act a certain way, and I fear that sometimes, I curl into myself and hold whatever's inside of me in this dark little corner and simmer in the decision to keep quiet.
Well if you haven't heard me perform onstage, I've got a voice, and it's a pretty loud one! One that deserves to be heard, in whatever capacity that may be. Could be for my eyes, and my eyes only, but the point is, it needs to come out, and writing is the best outlet for me to do so.
I don't need a moment in which to inspire me to sit down and catch up, I need the mindset that when there's a thought inside of me worth sharing, it deserves to come out in written form.
And golly, it feels so gooooood when it's out there. Like a professional session with a therapist, I feel peace and walk away just a little bit wiser from my revelation.
I don’t write because I want to say something for the sake of saying something. I write because I have something to say.
If there’s ever any doubt in these next few months, doubt about my future and fear of not pursuing my real dream (my magazine), I have to remind myself that small progress is still progress and that there are other ways in which I’m nurturing my soul for what’s to come.
Being surrounded by passionate people, living in an entrepreneurial area, and continually writing, the most encouraging and healing activity of all.
