On writing and being and going for it

It’s been quite a while. The writer’s voice in me often lays dormant for a really long time before it kind of just explodes and it’s like I’m everywhere on everything and I just can’t seem to stop. I feel this need to write deep down in my bone marrow, like I was wired to do this.

I think that I spent a long time abusing my gift for writing, by using it to wallow and magnify my pain. Venting is okay but my goodness, I often took it too far.

But I know that I see this world in a unique light: I see the shadows playing off of everything, and I feel a need to record it all, to gather up all of these precious moments as not to waste them, to not let them escape into the void of the forgotten.

Last night I met Jamie, the founder of TWLOHA, and sitting there next to my friend Ali at University Book Store and listening to him talk about depression hurt in a growing pain kind of way. He is still in the process of healing and coping and yet he still stood up there, looking us in the eyes and reminding us that hope cannot be extinguished. He signed my copy of If You Feel Too Much, and I told him that I’m really considering applying to intern at TWLOHA next summer, and he smiled at me and said go for it.

Go for it.

I didn’t realize how desperately I had been craving those kind of encouraging words. You know, I really do think that with the right kind of encouragement, people can shine so much more than they ever thought they could.

The night before that I sat on my bedroom floor, doubled over with a chest swollen with anxiety and panic, unable to think anything at all, really. All I could focus on was the seemingly futile task of opening my hands, palms up, and placing them side by side on the carpet. It’s too much it’s too much, Jesus.

And I couldn’t blame God in that moment, I couldn’t be frustrated with Him, complain or wallow. All I could do was sit there and trust Him. And I realized that I didn’t just need to trust Him, but that there was no other choice for me in that moment.

Does that make sense? It was as if there was no option for doubt, as if I couldn’t have not trusted Him completely, even if I had tried or wanted to.

May seems like the longest month. It consisted of a lot: of finishing up my sophomore year, moving back home for the summer, traveling around the Pacific Northwest with a boy I love dearly, trying to be honest, creating a lot of new art, reading a lot of books, feeling both closer to and further from where I want to be.

I am often self-conscious and miss people too deeply and am grieved by change. I have a lot to learn and become but I am going for it.

And I think that maybe our little lives, intertwined with and wrapped around other’s, aren’t quite as small as we think they are.

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