Writing Life

Yesterday’s rantiness (is that a word?) abated, I’m game for whatever Friday has in store. It’s been a big texting day from friends, from Afghanistan to the Blue Ridge Mountains to Atlanta.

To those who read my previous post in its entirety … sorry about that. Hate Thy Neighbour was a topic that required symmetry.

So I used up a post to dump my negative thoughts about my now old neighbours. Doing so left me with an almost seasick feeling for the remainder of the day which I am happy to report did not follow me into this new morning. Hate is so ugly and usually wrong; it must be examined and quantified.

So I did.

I began my daily writing routine about 4 years ago as a source of respite, if you will, for what felt like a 10,000 pound weight on my soul.

I was not processing a broken marriage to my best friend. Mixed with not doing that, I was in a work atmosphere with co-workers whom I didn’t want to know anymore. Add to it, my family mourned losing JB as a son and brother. Still more, the majority of our mutual friends went with JB (his originally).

Andy, one friend who stayed neutral, would go on to label that time as “the year where things that weren’t supposed to fell apart.”

In pit with no windows, I needed something to take the microscope off of life.

So I created a site and committed to online writing. Not about the stuff I just mentioned, but about topics that weren’t any of those things. A song, a book, a sentence, a headline. I forced myself to explore one idea a morning, find a theme, a thread, an image to match, make a clever title, add tags, etc.

More and more, organically translating the inner workings of a thought into words for someone else to read became fluid, easier. And that focus on something other than the looming elephants in the room slowly began to alleviate the burden that had become my trainwreck.

Eventually I turned it inwards, and without using real names or places, I found a voice for my baggage and some resolution and/or self-forgiveness.

The word cathartic often comes to mine.

Image result for balance

Now I don’t wish to be without this medium. Whether my subject matter is a new music group or my pals next door, both carry an emotional charge that serves me well to put into words.

Through this form of expression, I have made peace with the fact that I am solely responsible for JB. That is my regret to carry. Anyone else who wantingly (not a word but it fits) puts his face in my face, you’re on your own.

And by way of this form of expression, all other weights have been and continue to be systematically loaded into blog containers, onto internet ships, destined for far far away places.

Which makes the 10,000 pound anchor feel much lighter these days.

And that is why I write.

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