I wrote now for 30 days in a row. Not much compared to 1 year, 2 years, 3 years. But more than 0 days. I started to write, because I felt the urge to do so. I always wanted to write. I had a blog when I went to Asia for several weeks to write down what I experienced, I had a blog in German some years later, that I deleted one shaky night all at once, I write each day, notes, quotes, ideas, thoughts, in emails, in various online and offline sheets of paper. I always loved writing, but I never took it the level of a consistent practice of writing, online, visible for everyone who finds what I write about.
After roughly 30 days, I can say, that writing has already changed me. It gives me clarity. It gives me sanity. It gives me fulfillment. It is a missing piece I was looking for but didn’t know how much I needed it until i found it.
Two weeks ago, I did not write for 2 days. I first thought: “oh no, I did not write for 2 days”, but then 2 days later, I felt uneasy, out of order, a bit lost and unmotivated. But how can that be? After 2 days? That is ridiculous, did I tell myself. I started at that time 2 weeks ago and I already feel uneasy? It already brings me out of my focus?
I started writing again and loved it. I came up with stories, with ideas, collecting what I could write about. All my ideas, my feelings, my sentiments, my observations collected via Emails with my personal codename “Mindlime”. I collect my writing ideas there, they get a folder in my Outlook email program, and they are collected there. I ponder on them, think of them, they grow, they become more clear, they give me new ideas, I take it from there.
Then, when I sit down the next morning and start to write on this white canvas in Medium, I am getting excited. Soon, I will fill the page with content, with what I had in mind. My words are flowing, one line and one word after the other. I write and the words flow. And soon, there is an article. A piece of creation. A piece of honesty, a piece of reflection, a piece of ideas and beauty. A piece of emotion and power. The day, the moment, the inspiration tells what the article that day is all about. Sometimes I don’t even know in the beginning. I have a topic, an idea, a direction. But the content itself? It creates while creaing, it develops while writing, it shows up, it comes from the depth of myself, it flows. And that makes it so beautiful.
I wrote many poems in the past. and with poems, it is the same. The words simply flow. They come out of some form within myself, slightly structured and directed by my conscious mind. And then it creates itself.
The last two days, I did not write. Or let it put that way, two days ago I wrote an article, but I did not publish it, because I got stressed out, I got angry, it became an angry text, one, where I wasn’t 100% sure how much it came from my heat, as it was a bit forced, I had to hurry up to meet a friend, I was already late, and it did not feel good to publish the text without editing. I did not publish it. Yesterday, I also did not write an article. I slept short, met friends, got out of my schedule. And had this ida in my head: “let’s try that again. That not-writing and seeing if it has a similar effect as the other two days I did not write?”. And I tested it. One could say, maybe that is a self-fulfilling prophecy now, as I already knew the effect of the first two days. But hey, I still liked the idea of testing that. I did not write for two days.
And after these two days? Yesterday night I was uneasy, I felt something was missing, I felt out of place. Uneasy. I started doing activities I did in the past that had nothing to do with creating, but with being lost and trying to find me again. Trying to figure out what I am meant to be, what I should do, even though right now, I know what I want to to. I have it clearly layed out for me, I have a direction. But yesterday I lost it, I was tired, I was a bit uneasy.
Was that related to my writing? Or to something else? I don’t know. But I know that writing gives me pleasure. It elevates me. It helps me keep sane.
I had this thought, that feeling now several times. This feeling of: “I need writing, I need to feel my fingers moving along the computer keys and the typing sound klick klack, klick klack, I need to feel the flow of creation coming right out of me, I need the beauty of text evolving in front of my eyes.
One of my poems, one of the few in English has the following words:
Painting Words
What can I do with words?
I can paint them,
Write them,
Speak them.
I can use fingers,
Forms,
And Mouth.
Whatever I do,
I see words.
Without words,
There is no us,
Without words,
There is no culture.
Without words,
There is no sense.
It is words,
That make up my universe.
It is truly words, that are beautiful. It is writing, that is beautiful. It is writing, that is beauty.
Do you have something that you love so much, it keeps you sane? it gives you pleasure? It elevates your thinking? It brings you joy? Like you need it to be fully there?
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