The post I’ve chosen for this month first appeared on ME IN THE MIDDLE on November 2nd, 2015. To see the original comments to that post you can click on the title below to be taken to the original post.
I chose this post because I know I’m among people who also share my love for writing. It’s so easy to forget the sense of joy and freedom we find through writing and let ourselves slip back into just thinking about it and not doing it. This post inspires me to keep thinking about and creating through blogging.
The Eternal Sea of Creativity
© Mary Lou
I write because I have a story to tell and memories to share. The story and the memories are through my eyes and not a reflection of someone else’s perception. Sometimes our stories can be lost or hidden from view unless we find our own voice. Writing allows an expression of that longing to be heard when we’re surrounded by other versions, other perspectives and other agendas that can distort and embellish the validity of our own experience.
Writing has been a path to my middle ground. It’s there at the center of my thoughts where I’m able to find that thread of continuity of my own self. It surprises me when, after procrastinating on getting started, I find a joy and freedom that begins to awaken and I wonder why I waited to begin. It’s an awakening that points to the whole ‘me’.
What stands out in my memory about my writing experience over the years, more than the keeping of a diary or writing a personal journal, is that writing has become a way to be able to identify the process of finding out where I fit within the middle of things …… my reality.
I remember an award I received in an Anthology of New York-New Jersey High School Essays ~ “Young America Speaks”. I was genuinely surprised that my essay was chosen and I felt mine wasn’t as good as the other high school writers. When I reread what I wrote at this time of my life, I can clearly see that what I wrote was helping me to find my place ……. where I belonged in the middle of things. I belong to a family of writers ~ my father, my mother, my two brothers. When I wrote I was saying I was a part of it all and that I belonged here.
Whenever I attempted to write poetry, it was usually at a more challenging time in my life. When I was sorting through life’s paradoxes and finding my way through the complexities and seeking answers. When I wasn’t able to find the words to express what was going on inside, writing poetry helped to define that struggle.
There’s value in writing! Sharing what we write is secondary to just the pure act of putting pen to paper. When it comes to the gifts and revelations we receive about life, both now and in the future, writing is a priceless contribution to ourselves and others.