Happy Writing Memories
(Entry below is an excerpt from an entry hand written on 6/24/2012)
So this morning I slept way too much, got up and watched ‘In Search of Halston’ on Netflix, which was pretty entertaining because it talked about the fashion and nightlife of the 70s. Then I showered, washed my dishes, took out the garbage, and went out to the grocery store for some items I will need for lunch this week.
Then I got back here and had a nice meditation and now I am sitting at my kitchen table (which I don’t use hardly enough) and facing the window looking out at trees over my neighbor’s yards, and their rooftops just beyond my fire escape. It’s cloudy, the birds are chirping and there is a soft breeze coming through the window, and I am writing. It hardly gets any better than this.
To me, there is no such thing as ‘too quiet.’ Yesterday, I— and I were talking about the freedom that comes with adulthood and how great it can be, being able to do whatever you want to. He talked about the freedom to eat ice cream for dinner. I said how I loved the fact that if I couldn’t sleep, I could get up at 2am, have a snack and go online for a while, maybe post something to my blog. That kind of stuff is pretty great. To realize that you have freedom, options and choices, every day of you life is pretty amazing.
And then when you start working, you have money to play around with too. You can finally eat whatever you want to, dress however you want to, travel to new places, live in whatever town you desire, choose to have or not have certain things- like a couch or a bookcase, a TV or a car. You can choose to spend the day in isolation, or you can reach out and meet others and interact with the world.
Sitting here on my kitchen table and writing is so different and such an uncommon thing to do that it almost feels like being in a whole new apartment altogether, which is really good. It’s good to change my perspective every now and then, and get back to writing which makes me feel important. It makes me feel like I can finally have my say, and even if no one is listening, at least I’m listening to myself.
The other day on television I was watching a show where a stylist was giving advice to a tv news personality about what kind of clothes to wear while travelling. The conversation turned to handbags and the pretty, blonde stylist said she favored a particular handbag because it was big and roomy enough to hold everything she needed. She rattled off her list of needs and then said, ‘and my diary, I still keep one.’ And the tv correspondent replied, ‘Aw, how cute are you?’
I want to be that kind of writer again. Someone for whom writing is so fun and so important that he/she carries a small journal around everywhere they go. Instead I tend to carry around lots of pens and no journal. I know that has to change. Somehow I know, and have always known, that writing is my best and favorite form of self-expression. And I have to continue to give it great importance in my life. I want my writing, and good deeds towards others (like the homeless and the hungry) to be what I am remembered for after I die.
And it’s great to realize that I still have time. I can continue to write, to submit poetry for publication, to perhaps work on a longer work down the road, and work on other creative expressions like taking photographs or art journaling. I may never make millions, but living a simple life in which I am true to who I am is what I strive for. I am OK with that as a legacy.
I remember once when I lived in Hoboken, sitting at my small kitchen counter in my studio apartment and writing in my journal. I did 10 pages of freewriting and I felt immensely better for it. That was a great writing memory. As was the time many years ago (I must have been in high school) when my sister brought me along to her nail salon. As she was getting her nails done, I was sitting on the couch in the waiting area reading poetry. I read a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay that inspired me to write ‘Create the Morning’ which is one of my favorites of the poems I have written.
And it was published on the first page of one of the issues of the literary magazine produced at my college years later. I was proud of myself and really happy. I asked my sister to always take me along with her whenever she did her nails, because I became so inspired while writing there in the salon. I don’t think my family could ever understand why I would get excited over something like writing, but it was just in my blood all the time.
It was an amazing rush when I could unburden my mind and my heart, and out would come a poem or an essay where I would get the imagery and the phrasing just right. There was little else that could bring me that profound feeling of joy, satisfaction and fulfillment.
Next month, I will be turning 33. In the past, I would see that age as an end to something. And it sort of is, but it is also the beginning of something else. It’s the beginning of me really owning my life as my own, the beginning of being truly happy with who I am and who I’ve grown to be, and the continuation of my living my life, being more and more true to myself.
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