Writing for My Life

It seems like I should have something profoundly patriotic to write about today. I don’t, so instead, I’m observing a celebration of my own: six months of blogging. Who knew I had so much to say?! I doubt that anything I’ve written has made the world a better place, but it’s certainly made my brain a better place—and that’s a good thing since I spend a lot of time there.

I find that I don’t really know what I think until I write something down. All day long, random thoughts snake their way through my brain matter, occasionally connecting to other thoughts or something I’ve read or heard that’s still sitting there in my short-term memory, waiting for me to do something with it. It’s a tangled mess, kinda like my daughters’ hair when they wake up in the morning. Writing is my detangler. It’s how I work out the knots, find the strands that belong together, and yank out a few that have served their purpose but need to go. It’s how I tame my static and smooth out my kinks. I can’t imagine how I’d ever have a well-formed, decent idea without writing about it first.

It’s also my therapy. When I’m lonely, I write and find solace. When I’m weary, I write and I’m energized. When I’m stressed, I write and I’m calmed. When I’m purposeless, I write and find new vision. When I’m hungry, I eat. Junkfood, usually. Still working on that one.

Finally, writing is my history. I started journaling in junior high and have a written record of two-thirds of my life. It’s not necessarily pleasant to relive the pity party that was my high-school existence, but it’s all there should I feel like settling in for a day of anguish and torment—and occasionally I do. Much better than that, I love using my journals to track answered prayer, growth and maturity, and silly ideas that never went anywhere. I highly recommend journaling, even for the nonwriters of the world. Even just a sentence or two every night before bed can serve to clear your brain, counsel your soul, and record your history. Give it a try for a month and see what happens.

Happy Independence Day, and thanks for making the trek through my brain with me. I hope you come out unscathed.