I decided today that it is the right time to begin writing in my blog again. I haven’t written much because, well, I have been way too busy. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Busy? My planner (yes, I still actually write my daily activities), looks like a game of Tetris. I move appointments around strategically so as to fit them in between immovable, already established pieces like work schedule, class schedules and sleeping.
Today, I was ecstatic to discover my day was clear of scheduled activities after an early morning coffee appointment with a man “scouting out the land” for a possible move. He was visiting my city from somewhere on the East side of Oregon.
I had the day to myself because it’s “Presidents’ Day.” In the United States, it goes very much unnoticed, however. I’m not really sure why we still observe it but I do know local newspapers splash ads of “President’s Day Sales!” and many get the day off from work or school. For the latter point, I am grateful.
Back to writing, its one of the things I love to do. I was made for creative expression. We have been created by a Being known as Creator to be… creative. In our culture though, writing isn’t only discouraged, it feels forbidden. Hallmark Cards does our writing for us. Or we copy and paste the words of dead poets on Facebook or Twitter to best express our deeper musings. We shop for the best card that is “closest” to what we wish to say. We look into the face of a loved one as they read, hoping they hear our heart through the words of someone who is paid to write sentiments. This, of course, is like a kissing booth at a carnival where the person running the booth kisses customers for money. Something just doesn’t quite feel right about all that.
Yes, I’ve had a few writing classes in school. Instructors tell us how to say what we want to and the how-to involves things like proper spelling, topic sentences, syntax and the avoidance of detours so logic becomes the lunchroom lady where emotion is held in check. Writing, as we were taught to do it, almost feels like an anti-human activity. We are forever editing, spell checking, deleting, reworking our phrases, leaving out details that might not be pertinent. We are indeed trained in self-scrutiny and in self-doubt often at the expense of self-expression.
As a result, we tightly hold the reins of expression, keeping our “authentic self” in check. What if we don’t sound smart enough? But what should we do? Just write! Give yourself permission to hang out on a page feeling as comfortable as I did all day hanging out in my apartment in my “home clothes.”
