You and I have stories to tell – 10/100

Holy bejeebus. I have 90% of this challenge left. I almost regret it as much as I relish it. Bahah I kid. I am enjoying it – thoroughly.

You don’t know how much it hurt to looking at my monthly post count on my page glaring at me accusingly… a measly 5 or 6, or even 2 on a particularly dry and uninspired month. It’s the 8th of May, and this will be my 8th post. Damn that feels good. Hahaha.

I feel like a weirdo in that sense. But I understand this is what makes me tick. It’s a wonderful thing, to understand these these little things. It helps drive my actions and live in a way that makes me the most productive, the most happy. To not know, to not understand what my baseline is sucked. I felt lost for a while, wondering, pondering.

Grasping it has made a real difference to me. Truly. Even when I feel lost or confused or unsure of my next step, I can still go back to the center, or part of the center. I can always come back to writing. And that’s what I do.

I can’t explain to you how many journals I’ve blown through. Actually I can hahah rather, I can’t explain to you the hours of writing, processing, sifting through my thoughts, emotions, desires… The process itself is the beauty.

I know I’m a broken record when it comes to this but I can’t stress how much writing has done for me. And how much I think writing or the act of intentionally drawing out what’s going on inside my head has allowed me to move forward. People around me have heard it enough from me – write. Just write. Just do it.

It doesn’t change. Because everyone has something to say. Everyone.

Everyone.

Everyone has a story, whether to recount to themselves in private or share with others. It’s a self-service. It’s not for the benefit of others. The primary benefit is that we acknowledge our own story, our thoughts. That we can grow and learn from them. The secondary benefit is that others grow and learn from them.

People confuse writing with being published, with external validation. I assure you Ernest Hemingway didn’t write because he wanted to boast of his talent and be praised for it. The true author is one who writes for self, for the freedom of self. It’s a very private thing.

It has nothing to do with stylistic devices or techniques. I think I’m only able to write the way I do now because I’ve given myself permission to be okay with just writing. Not writing novels or viral blog posts – trust me, I couldn’t even get there even if I tried lol. I let myself be. I let my thoughts take over my fear of judgment and adherence to perfectionism. Because I knew that if I didn’t, no one would.

So when I write now, it’s from a familiar place, a place I’ve walked many times, yet a place I’m discovering all over again. The mind is a crazy thing. The heart, even crazier. Don’t even get started with the soul lol.

So yes, for those who have heard this from me before, I’m still saying the same thing. For those who haven’t, I might be writing something similar again in the coming months. Not because I have an agenda, but because you are really worth looking into and understanding.

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