It’s only when you truly begin to understand yourself and your idiosyncrasies that you can affect the way you feel. For instance, I was feeling irrationally sad earlier. Morbid even. Then I remembered something funny about myself – that writing about it would heal me. It’s strange how in the lunacy of life you can forget the vital keys to your own happiness. I have gone almost 6 years living in this whirlwind of study and work and failed relationships and broken friendships. And in that six years, I lost sight of what made me who I am. I lost sight of the simple pleasures in life. I forgot what it felt to be content. I forgot what it felt like to be WHOLE.
Now here I sit, after a 2 month holiday in the United States. A frantic and exciting journey it was, to say the least. How strange it was to realise that I was once again happy, and once again feeling blessed. That I could remember what made me smile – but more importantly, what gave me joy.
I love to write. Writing, to me, is the simplest yet the most brilliant form of expression. If you can write, you can create. And if you can create, then you are virtually unstoppable.
When I write, I am the creator. I am the inspiration. I am the story. I bring words to life. I bring characters and plots and twists and turns into being. I can manipulate the events and I can envision the outcome. But the single best part about writing is that so long as you’re satisfied with your own words on the page, then it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. You created it and it’s yours. It’s only true purpose is to serve you – to serve your own joy and contentedness.
And this, my friends, is why I write today. I have rediscovered the simplistic beauty of taking joy in your own handiwork. I have found my muse again. I know it wasn’t lost, but to have discovered it again is like finding the $50 you stored away for safekeeping but couldn’t remember the hiding place. My writing has more value than $50 to me – to me, its price cannot be named.
Ah, such joy this is.