Anyway, I recently took a content-area course called the Teaching of Writing. It was a workshop style class for educators and let me just say I left each day renewed and ambitious enough to teach everyone I knew how therapeutic writing can be. We began each day with a journal. Sometimes we shared ours with the class, sometimes we did not. It wasn't a requirement. One day I shared my thoughts and was moved to see that it brought others to tears. That was the pivotal moment that I realized writing held the answer to so many things. I can write about all of the things I wish I'd done differently in the past. I can write about all of the things that I still hope to do in the future. I can put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard more likely!) and get out all of the frustrations eating me up, share the happy thoughts that I have which I feel are too mundane for others to listen to, or I can write about things that eat me up because I feel misunderstood by the world. If I just take the time to write things down ... maybe even share some thoughts on this blog ... it not only holds the possibility to be therapeutic to me, but it can be therapeutic to someone else who finds themselves able to relate and realize that they aren't alone.
I'm excited to start sharing some journal-style posts. To give the world a closer look into the secret area between my heart and my mind .. the place where hurt lies in limbo, emotions overwhelm, frustrations seem endless and happiness feels powerful .. that to me sounds like a top of the to-do list necessity. :)
Here is the journal entry I mentioned above:
"Driving in I was thinking about what to write. Yesterday I wrote about something completely unplanned and thought that if today I were a little bit more prepared, I’d have so much more to say. With the quiet that the classroom offered during our journal writing time, 15 minutes of uninterrupted time seemed like such a great opportunity to get a lot off of my mind. I'd never dream of getting quiet like that around the house! ... maybe if I locked the bathroom door and pretended to be in the shower or something though! No such luck on really nailing down a topic for this morning though. I thought of everything from my what I'll make for dinner tonight to the bills I need to hop online and pay - all the way to the bountiful things in my life for which I had reason to smile. But I was continuously distracted by my drive ~ in a very literal sense ~ in that nothing was really sinking in. So, when I say drive in the literal sense, I’m specifically referring to me, sitting in the driver’s seat of my van (mommy mobile as me and my kids call it), grasping the steering wheel. I think of the numerous places I’ve gone in that van and how even though its mechanics have frequently let me down, the sense of stability its framework has offered, never fails. I can recall riding passenger with a smile on my face and wind in my hair as my husband drove us to Sea Isle for a family vacation. I can recall driving my children to school – sometimes they’d want to go, sometimes they wouldn’t – and frequently checking on their safety in the rearview mirror. Then, there was the time we ran out of gas and I blamed that poor van. Nonetheless, me and the kids sat in the back of it, sheltered from the weather, coloring until AAA got there. The framework of the van kept us safe. It all reminds me of a time too recent ago when I got into my van, grasped the steering and drove to visit my mom. Geez, I can remember before driving to visit her with the family in tow. She was usually at her house watching tv. In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t been in such a rush to get back into my van those days and drive away. But … there was so much to get done I guess, right? At least there were times when I drove the van to meet mom and dad at a local restaurant. Every year on my birthday they'd take me out to eat. Every year they'd tell me I could pick the place, but mom would hate my selection and always override it!. There were many times that I drove to visit her in the hospital. That ride seemed to happen again and again. My mom got sick a lot. One day though, I remember getting into the van and visiting her in the hospital for what turned out to be the last time. I never could’ve predicted that now, when I hop in the van to go visit her ... tell her what's on my mind, bring her some fresh flowers, or just hang for a little .. that I'd take a different route to get to her that what I was so accustomed to. Now, I drive to visit my mom at the cemetery. I carefully pick the flowers I'll bring her each time thinking to myself, "what would mom like?" I never get to see the reaction on her face though. I don't get to see a smile to reassure me how much my careful selection was worth the time put in because I put them in a vase at her marker. I no longer can put them in her hands. When I take that new route to visit mom now, I drive down the very same highway I take to get to this class. Maybe that's why I can't focus on anything. My mind is too full. I miss my mom. She really is the framework for my life. Kinda reminds me of my van really. The mechanics of our relationship were tethered here and there. But, just like the van has a framework of steel that never lets me down, my mom had a heart of gold that gave and gave and gave, making sure no matter how bad life got for me, I'd know I wasn't alone."
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