Now that I have started this blog, the question is, am I a writer? Does publishing my own blog and filling these pages with thoughts and poems and ideas make me a writer? I don’t dare claim that title. But I think in order to figure out if I am, or am going to be, I need to go back a few steps before I move forward. I am going to get dusty and dirty, and dig deep into my garage-into that box that is taped from all angles and screams “keep out”. It is full of journals, handwritten pages and letters, quotes and stories, poems and ramblings from a long since forgotten time. A time when I can admit, I was not at my best. Ok, I was miserable. We are talking high school, early twenties, maybe a bit longer-who knows.
“Don’t look back, you’re not going that way again” , “When your past calls, don’t answer. It has nothing new to say”-quotes we all see and hear, and yes, agree with. But in this case I believe that it may have something to offer me. Some insight into the last few years and how I handled the ups and downs in my life (more on all that later) and why I there are times I can only write what I am feeling, and cannot bring the words to my lips as easy as I can put them on pages. Perhaps they can tell me where parts of me got lost, off track, or just plain stuck. And when I changed and turned off, tuned out, gave up, moved on-locking parts of my heart away for good.
It will be an interesting journey and I am not afraid to admit it scares me a bit. I know that in that box lies not just the light and beautiful things that inspired me, but also the dark parts, the ones we all do our best to hide. We all have secrets we never tell, things we stuffed into corners and closets so no one would see-when was the last time you looked at yours?
Well, I will go first. Wish me luck.