Years in review.
I stopped writing. For a long time.
It's always interesting to me to go back and read my old blogs, online journals, and real (paper) diaries. This happens every few years, it seems - I stop writing, I go back, I re-read, and I don't recognize the person or place I was in anymore. I feel detached, and it doesn't seem "real" or authentic. I find that I am tempted to delete things; yet I know that I will regret it if I do.
So, it stays. My old Livejournal.com accounts, my old posts here. Maybe I'll archive them, maybe I won't. Maybe it will be entertaining for others to read and see all the old perspectives. I recently revived my old Diaryland.com account after thinking that it had been permanently erased. It was both a relief and a source of anxiety - a catalog of thoughts going back to 1999, people I'd been at one time and can now no longer relate to. Is this the same for everyone? I wonder.
I'm 36 years old, and at certain times in my life, I can remember thinking that I might be a professional writer one day. We'll see - everyone I know says I'm still young, I can still do what I want in life. We'll see. For now, I have missed the therapy that writing provided, and it's been inching back into my life slowly -- this past summer, I began writing songs with a friend from high school, and it's been very rewarding. I always felt like I had this secret weapon in words and language - I felt like I could do things in writing that I couldn't do in every day life, like it was my higher self. I've missed that feeling. I've missed that power.
If you've been a reader over the years, thank you.
It's always interesting to me to go back and read my old blogs, online journals, and real (paper) diaries. This happens every few years, it seems - I stop writing, I go back, I re-read, and I don't recognize the person or place I was in anymore. I feel detached, and it doesn't seem "real" or authentic. I find that I am tempted to delete things; yet I know that I will regret it if I do.
So, it stays. My old Livejournal.com accounts, my old posts here. Maybe I'll archive them, maybe I won't. Maybe it will be entertaining for others to read and see all the old perspectives. I recently revived my old Diaryland.com account after thinking that it had been permanently erased. It was both a relief and a source of anxiety - a catalog of thoughts going back to 1999, people I'd been at one time and can now no longer relate to. Is this the same for everyone? I wonder.
I'm 36 years old, and at certain times in my life, I can remember thinking that I might be a professional writer one day. We'll see - everyone I know says I'm still young, I can still do what I want in life. We'll see. For now, I have missed the therapy that writing provided, and it's been inching back into my life slowly -- this past summer, I began writing songs with a friend from high school, and it's been very rewarding. I always felt like I had this secret weapon in words and language - I felt like I could do things in writing that I couldn't do in every day life, like it was my higher self. I've missed that feeling. I've missed that power.
If you've been a reader over the years, thank you.
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