Over the last few weeks I have realised just how much I like writing. I've slowly worked out that in much the same way as you can get pleasure from drawing without being an artist, you can get pleasure (and free self-therapy!) from writing without actually being "a writer" per se.
Back in early July, as I mentioned in this post, I discovered that in times of emotional turmoil I felt a greater need to write than to knit - which took me completely by surprise. Well, yesterday we got more sad news and the fountain pen has been calling once again. It seems not to matter if anyone will actually see what I write - in fact there is a wonderful freedom in just writing and writing and writing, letting the fountain pen nib leave a trail of emotions, reasoning, bargaining and acceptance in inky form, safe in the knowledge that no-one apart from me need ever see it.
Even typing (at which I am hopelessly inefficient) has its own particular appeal, and after years of shunning blogs as far too self-indulgent I seem to have become an easy convert to the genre! Whilst I write each blog post conscious that someone else might read it, even if I had an average of zero page-views per week I would continue. I write it mostly for me. How much more self-indulgent could I be?!! In particular, I have returned to my "Love. . . my life" post anytime I need reminding that I have so much to be thankful for. Like yesterday for instance, when one phone call turned our world upside down and literally years of planning, hoping and dreaming suddenly blew away like dust in the wind. But a new day has dawned and though it may be a different future to the one we three dreamed of, planned and hoped for, it will no doubt hold many wonderful surprises and opportunities. This time of heavy-hearted sadness and loss will pass. We will keep on walking forward and remember to appreciate each day we have. . .
. . . and you can bet that I will write about it - on the blog, in notebooks, in scrapbooks and on the backs of old envelopes, but I will write. I will breathe and love and knit and write and cook and eat and travel and laugh and play and feel and surprise myself countless times, and find that this is how a life is lived. . .