It’s been too long since I’ve written anything. I let myself believe it was the frustration of February, not the grief of losing my dad in January, that was keeping me from the page. Turns out it’s a combination of both, and then some.
So this morning, for the first time in a while I sat and just did what I’ve done for years: pen to paper without ceasing.
It felt like coming home.
Unless you are one that breathes the rarefied air of all things self-care and self-aware and self-involvement and self, self, self… making the time to write isn’t always a priority or even a possibility. But, what I know is that it is a necessity. Tapping on the keys of my computer allows me to go faster not deeper in my expression of thoughts and feelings and frustrations and dreams and desires and expectations and fears and doubts and hates and love and on and on and on.
We are in need of a revolution of pause.
And by that I mean, I know my life has a fuller sense of being and presence when I’ve taken the time to pause, consider and then move forward. Writing in a journal every day forces me to do just that – my pen can only go as quickly as my hand can move it and my mind can only go as fast as the time it takes to communicate the thoughts to the page.
Take some time today to write something. Not for work. Not for others. Not because you have to or you must, but because it takes time and it takes effort and it requires less speed, more self.