Today's picture the holidays prompt was You Hold the Key. A special remedy that gives us the perspective we deeply need. To take a moment to remind ourselves of our soul cure, so we can remember it at a crazy moment during our holiday season.
What is my key?
It is writing. I have an ever so slight love affair with words. Words mean everything to me. I take words to heart. I read things into words. Or lack thereof. Word choice is pivotal to me, whether it is my own or someone else's. Connotations. Allusions. Metaphors. Rhythm. Every nuance is part of the magic of it to me.
But it is in writing that I can refocus. It is in writing that I can process my emotions and my analytical sequences. It is in the process of writing that I determine how I feel about things. It is in the process of writing that I make decisions and conclusions. Writing allows me to filter out everything whirling through my mind, shaping and molding into something beautiful that others can appreciate.
I feel I can think better when I am writing. I think quicker when I am writing. Ideas come together when I am writing. It flows out of me like a river full of the springtime snow melt off. It is bursting and pushing, raging and torrent, and must, simply must, find an outlet.
(Shawn doesn't understand this need of mine. He doesn't understand how I can not know how I feel about something, because I haven't had a chance to write about it. I suppose it may seem a little odd. But despite his inability to relate to it, he indulges me and gives me the freedom and time to express myself in this way. I am thankful for that.)
I even prefer to write my prayers to God. It keeps me focused and doesn't allow Satan to tempt my wandering mind. As I mentioned, I can think more clearly. And I have a permanent record of my prayer, that I can one day look back on and see how God has answered the longings of my heart.
All of this began the Christmas of 10th grade. 1994. My best friend Megan gave me a fabric covered journal. And I began to write. And write I did. I never stopped. I filled journal after journal with the useless babble of a high schooler. But it was then that I learned to process what I felt with words. I cannot imagine what things would be like if I hadn't discovered it then. Thank you, Megan.
(And I find it kind of funny. Back then, we would trade journals and let each other read them. I guess that was kind of like blogs, back then, in the dinosaur days.... where others read your personal thoughts... but just in paper form, instead).
I have wanted to do this for some time now and finally managed to do it today. Dug through the attic (twice) to unearth the box that held my treasured journals from high school. Here is where it all began.
I shot these with my
D90
Sigma 30mm f1.4
What is my key?
It is writing. I have an ever so slight love affair with words. Words mean everything to me. I take words to heart. I read things into words. Or lack thereof. Word choice is pivotal to me, whether it is my own or someone else's. Connotations. Allusions. Metaphors. Rhythm. Every nuance is part of the magic of it to me.
But it is in writing that I can refocus. It is in writing that I can process my emotions and my analytical sequences. It is in the process of writing that I determine how I feel about things. It is in the process of writing that I make decisions and conclusions. Writing allows me to filter out everything whirling through my mind, shaping and molding into something beautiful that others can appreciate.
I feel I can think better when I am writing. I think quicker when I am writing. Ideas come together when I am writing. It flows out of me like a river full of the springtime snow melt off. It is bursting and pushing, raging and torrent, and must, simply must, find an outlet.
(Shawn doesn't understand this need of mine. He doesn't understand how I can not know how I feel about something, because I haven't had a chance to write about it. I suppose it may seem a little odd. But despite his inability to relate to it, he indulges me and gives me the freedom and time to express myself in this way. I am thankful for that.)
I even prefer to write my prayers to God. It keeps me focused and doesn't allow Satan to tempt my wandering mind. As I mentioned, I can think more clearly. And I have a permanent record of my prayer, that I can one day look back on and see how God has answered the longings of my heart.
All of this began the Christmas of 10th grade. 1994. My best friend Megan gave me a fabric covered journal. And I began to write. And write I did. I never stopped. I filled journal after journal with the useless babble of a high schooler. But it was then that I learned to process what I felt with words. I cannot imagine what things would be like if I hadn't discovered it then. Thank you, Megan.
(And I find it kind of funny. Back then, we would trade journals and let each other read them. I guess that was kind of like blogs, back then, in the dinosaur days.... where others read your personal thoughts... but just in paper form, instead).
I have wanted to do this for some time now and finally managed to do it today. Dug through the attic (twice) to unearth the box that held my treasured journals from high school. Here is where it all began.
D90
Sigma 30mm f1.4