I’ve decided to force myself to write again. I spent a long night earlier this week looking over many different things that I wrote in college: essays, poems, journals and stories. I wrote constantly for years. I miss the act of writing. I miss the feel of keys under my fingers as they fly over the computer. I miss the sound of clicking as I type and the appearance of words across a once empty stretch of white screen. I miss being me.
However, wanting to write is not the only reason I want to start this. I need focus. I used to know who I was, what I loved and aspired to and enjoyed. I feel like I have floundered for the past two years and have lost sight of me. I was at a point near the end of college where, while I recognized the monumental changes and growth I still had coming my way, I was somewhat comfortable with who I had become. I am no longer that person. Sure, change can be good, but this has not been. This has been loss. I’m hoping that writing, something that defined me in the best possible way, will help me find me again.
I want to sharpen my skills that have dulled with lack of use. I want my vocabulary to return and my observations to become more focused. Not only do words escape me at an alarming rate, but I feel like I miss so many things around me. I don’t see like I used to. I want to write intelligibly about things, to write creatively, to write clearly. I want to remember how to do what I was groomed to do for years.
But this venture isn’t all about skill and creating. I want to reflect more. I have recently encountered so many different stories about people who set out to complete something: writing every day, cooking every day, reading the encyclopedia. I admire their ambition and dedication. I want to write every day, or close to that, but I want to write with purpose. I don’t want to make a diary about lunch and crushes and the weather. I want to find joy again. I’ve never really been a glass half full kind of gal, but things have taken a downward turn in the past couple of years. I learned that, despite my introversion, I love people. I like their stories, I like their company, I like their authenticity. I have lost this love and fear it’s never going to return. I have never identified with this quote from No-No Boy so closely:
It’s a matter of attitude. Mine needs changing. I’ve got to love the world the way I used to. I’ve got to love it and the people so I’ll feel good, and feeling good will make life worth while. There’s not point in crying about what’s done…I want only to go on living and be happy. I’ve only to let myself do so.
So, in an effort to be happier, in a genuine way, and to be better, in an authentic way, this is one of my projects. I just need to hold myself to it.