I have not written to you all in quite a while. Since July, to be precise. An unexpected illness can do that to a writer, luring even the most dedicated scribes from their desks.
But, a funny thing happened during my summer of no July, where I watched the world move past me in bold, rainbow strokes from the colorless confines of a hospital room.
I noticed the tiniest of details. Feelings that crawled across my consciousness like prickly ice. My fears and faith took on new complexities, turning and churning into a humility and gratitude that were once mere platitudes.
I was walking in other peoples’ shoes. Trying them on for size. Feeling their threadbare soles and the hot and pained pavement that they walk upon.
And then I began to write. Not for you, my Educated Writer friends. I wrote for myself. I could say it was cathartic. But that would be cliché. And we strive to avoid such things, don’t we?
No, it was more like a lifeline, anchoring me to the world as I once knew it. Tethering me to the worlds of my own making. The ones I truly live for.
What hurts have you writing today? A broken heart? A fearsome worry? A tattered future?
Share with me today in the comments section below.