I used to write on a regular basis, for better or worse.
Sometimes, positive words would spill onto the page. They would bring back memories and lessons learned and inspire feelings of thankfulness for what I’ve been given.
And sometimes, the words would take a turn and end up revealing some of the flaws I’ve long been battling.
But no matter the path, I was the one writing. And I was the one responsible for the ideas my writing conveyed.
The last time I wrote something was over 4.5 years ago, shortly after returning from my adventure around the world. When I got home, I quickly lost my drive to continue writing because I felt like I was back to living a “normal” life… as if inspiration can only be found when one is on some sort of extraordinary adventure.
To be fair, I did try writing a few things during that time, but my words ended up being more hurtful than helpful. Those posts led to some uncomfortable conversations with family, friends, and coworkers at the time. My words did damage and my reaction was cowardly. Instead of understanding that criticism offered insight into the person I was, I chose to stop writing altogether.
Over the past few years, I have often revisited the idea of putting my thoughts to paper once again. Not because I think the world needs to hear them, but rather because of the opportunity to create conversations around the things I regularly find myself thinking about.
My hope is that writing will help me process my thoughts and reveal areas of my life that are in need of direction. And perhaps this will evolve into an exercise in transparency and honesty, too.
And so here I am, writing once again.
Welcome to my personal collection of notes.