I gently settle into my seat, close my eyes and take a moment to notice the emotional baggage I have collected throughout the day.
I observe my neck anxiously craning to the left, my shoulders hunching up towards my ears, my breath shallow and fleeting. I plant my feet firmly on the cool hardwood floor, straighten my spine, take a deep breath and begin to soften.
It is time to connect to the fluidity of life, to let it flow through me. It is time to surrender—I must write.
I write to bring myself back into sanity, to connect with myself in the here and now. With my pen in hand, I liberate every sparkling facet of my soul with out shame, hesitation, or judgment. I write to bridge the abstract dialogue of my inner world with the outer world that is constantly challenging my perspectives, my ideas and my beliefs.
I breathe in, I breathe out. The more my hand moves, the lighter I feel, the less complex my mind becomes. My obsessive analysis and commentary of humanity is no longer drowning out the thoughts that actually matter. When I write, I stop questioning how I fit into the world. I step back from the army of thoughts berating me with doubt, and I keep breathing.
I write to move past the petrifying fear of failure that locks me in time and space, a fear that stops even my toes from wiggling closer to my dreams.
I write to feel my soul and free my mind, and reassure myself that I am not betraying or denying my heart.
Writing teaches me the art of authenticity, connectivity and creative expression. Surrendering to my pen and paper, my ideas are unbound from the constraints of society that keep me from moving forward. Writing reminds me that my thoughts and my world are constantly evolving and growing, and if I don’t stop thinking about thinking, I will never be able to fully experience the beauty of the journey.
I write to follow my wanderlust onto paper and explore the world without leaving the safety of my home; when I do venture out to explore the world, I do it with clear eyes and compassionate curiosity.
I write because it reminds me that I am creative, that I am inspired, that I am alive. Every page I fill with ink launches me closer to my highest and deepest self, and away from the confines that society has placed on my mind.
Because I am angry.
Because I am sad.
I write to feel and face my loneliness rather than run and hide.
I write because I am happy, because I am so full of love for this human experience that I must let it out before my heart explodes into a trillion little pieces.
I write to cultivate compassion, to express and embody my gratitude. I write to feel the satisfaction and sense of completion that envelops me after I spill my heart and soul into the crisp, creamy pages of the sacred haven of my moleskin.
I write to stay grounded.
I write to live in love.
I write to set myself free.
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Editor: Renée Picard
Photo: Wikimedia Commons
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