The Concept of Writing


This new website. This new blog. I didnt want to release it, honestly I didnt. I wanted to throw in the towel and I wanted to go back to writing in journals that no one besides myself would ever read. I tired to do it, but I couldnt. I just couldnt. The concept of writing was haunting me.


They say if you get something in your mind that you cant stop thinking about then that is your true passion. Like the fact that I couldn’t imagine not carrying around 5 notebooks at a time, and how I couldn’t imagine never picking up a pen or never letting my fingers hit the keyboard at lightning speed trying to get my words on paper before they forever leave my brain.


When I write in my journal I don’t always refer back to it, but every time I do I have revelations. My words surprise me, and I find myself making myself a promise that I will write more. And then time passes, and the promise is a little broken.


I mainly tell myself it is because I am too busy, but I think it is because I am scared. Scared of seeing my thoughts and feelings in black and white (or in pink if you are like me and like fun colors) maybe im even scared of having revelations during writing.


Writing is real. Writing is raw. Writing is vulnerable.


I had a thought the other day. I was with a friend and I was enjoying a moment. Later that day I was writing about it and I had so many other thoughts and symbolisms come to mind. I felt a little guilty that I didn’t share it at the time, and I felt like I was hiding my feelings. Shame and comparison came over me. In that moment I told myself that I never want to be that girl that hides behind a keyboard.


But truth is I think that promise to myself is a lie. I don’t think I can keep that promise. When I write my honesty comes out. It’s where I process my day. It’s where my true vulnerability lies. It is where a piece of my identity lies. I need that time and that moment to see how I feel deep down.


Verbal words are a beautiful thing. Telling someone to their face how wonderful they are and seeing the deep reaction in their eyes will never replace any form of communication. But writing about the details of a day and allowing someone’s mind to create their own image in their head and wander as far as they would like it to wander has been an art that will always and forever be craved.


I guess why I write is because I need that creativity. I need to process. I need to allow myself to think.

Whether people or watching, or not I will always be that person that opens her laptop to a blank page, or pulls out one of her five notebooks with an old pen that needs to be retired and I will write. I will write what I am scared of. I will write about the unknown. I will write about the good. And I will write about the bad. If it is read, then it is meant to be read. If it is not read, well, then it was probably best.


That’s the thing about writing. You never know who’s hands it is going to end up in, but in the end it always ends up in the right persons hands.


A piece of writing can change someone. It can touch someone’s soul. All you have to do is put it out there. In the end it isn’t up to you to decide who reads it and who doesn’t read it. In the end you don’t get to decide who’s hands it ends up in and who’s hands it doesn’t end up in. For such a calming art, it’s actually pretty thrilling. You write, and then you release.




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