Today, on Headspace, a woman talked about using her writing as meditation. And I felt that. That’s how it is for me.
Its one of the reasons why I love it. And its one of the reasons why I keep doing it. When I’m writing, nothing else matters. I can dive into a new world, away from worries and doubts and fears, and find a world of wonder or a universe of delight. The thoughts that usually crowd my mind go silent, when I’m writing, one of the few times they’re quiet. Its one of the few times I can have peace, in that sublime silence. They only pipe up to suggest ideas, flowing on the river of creativity.
When I’m stressed, I can write out what I’m struggling with, and it doesn’t seem so bad on the page. My feelings seem less overwhelming, when put it into words, and I can deal with them better. When I’m anxious, I can write a story or two on a train, or before an interview, and I feel better, restored and healed, and calmer.
Writing is my best friend, someone who has always been there for me. Its someone who listens, who doesn’t judge me, who understands. It respects me, admires me, and doesn’t mind my faults. Its supported me through everything, and I’m not sure what I would do without it.
For me, when I write my stories, I can find sheer bliss.
