This happens to me very infrequently.
I don’t have a topic to discuss.
Wait a minute? Me? With nothing to say?
So, of course, I will speak on that.
When I was a new mother I received a book for Christmas from my then husband. I read the title to be, Journey to the Self. I had began my quest for peace and calm, and understanding of my damaged soul, but this? This was too heavy. I said thank you and set the book on the shelf.
One day many moons later, I was sitting and nursing my daughter. The book shelf was a few feet ahead and that book was basically at eye level. I reread the title. It actually said, JOURNAL to the Self. The first sounded like an impossibility. The second, however, sounded fascinating. I picked it up and read the first page. It changed my life.
I paraphrase, but basically it said: write.
Write without consideration to grammar, spelling, or sentence structure. Don’t worry about penmanship. Write. Write for you. Only you.
It liberated me.
The middle and high schools I attended, never seemed to care about content. If they did, I never heard a word about it. We dissected sentences for labels. Over and over. Year after year. What we wrote had no importance.
I learned to write at 27. I learned I was pretty good at it. I learned that grammar can be corrected later. I learned that writing took all the stray thoughts I had, and filtered them through the pen in my hand and made them tangible on a piece of paper. I still always write for myself first. It turns out, I often want to share it.
Writing a journal helped me begin to clarify what I needed, what I wanted. It helped me stand up for myself, to become better at debating a topic, and later, researching why I don’t need to debate at all.
I never read any more of that book. I simply needed permission to write freely.
If you need it, you have permission to write freely, too.
Have fun. 😊
Namaste, my friends.