Why is it so hard to write?
I am having a hard time writing. Not just on my blog, but in life in general.
I used to consider myself a writer of sorts… I wrote for the newspaper, I wrote letters and cards to friends and family, and I wrote for myself. I was the keeper of journals…
I had one for my thoughts and reflections. I had a prayer journal. I had a journal I wrote down verses from my one year and questions I had about God. And I had a journal I wrote poetry and stories and things that inspired me in.
I love the smell of new journals… I love the way a new journal is like a fresh start… page after page waiting to be filled. I love the scribble of dark ink on white pages… how black and white everything becomes when you can finally put down on paper the thoughts and feelings that consume you. I love having a tangible piece of my history.
And now all thoes beautiful journals are sitting by my bed, unused.
I am not sure why.
It was always important to me to have an outlet, a place to express myself. It was important for me to have a place to sort through and make sense of my own feelings. I would start writing and keep writing until things I feared seemed less scary. I would write until things that confused me made more sense. I would write until the untouchable became tangible.
I needed that in my life, and I still need that in my life. I am happier when I write.
But it is hard for me to come up with words.
So this is my attempt. I want to make grand promises about how I will update my blog and write in my journal everyday and write all of you 8 page letters… but I won’t.
But I will write… if not for you… for me.
