I used to write all the time. Mostly emails. I used to write A LOT of emails at my old job. But I also used to write a lot of emails and messages that were absolutely not anything about work or work related. They were messages and emails about what was going on in life. They were often really, really funny back and forth banter with some of my favorite people. But somewhere along the way, I got out of the habit of using words to make a point (or make a funny) in my everyday life. I forgot how much I loved to write to figure out what I’m thinking. I forgot that I loved to tell stories.
My stories went away for a long time. When I say it like that I feel like a 70 year old woman talking about the soap operas she watches every afternoon. As much as I feel like a 70 year old woman today (everything hurts and I’m dying, thanks hormones) the stories I’m referring to are all my own. The stories I wrote about me with my family and friends. The stories I wrote about my past. The stories I wrote when I was walking through something hard that helped me figure out how I was going to make it through. They went away but I can finally see where they’ve been hiding and, maybe, how to help them come back.
Sarah reminded me yesterday that I just have to write everyday to exercise those muscles so that someday, I’ll be ready to for the next step. The next writing “marathon” that will hopefully come. She told me to write 200 words everyday. I’m at 279. I’m declaring that a victory. It’s a good start.