There is something beautifully simple about the written word.
For those who write, it's a medium to express themselves. For those who read, it's an opportunity to immerse themselves in another's perspective. For both - it's a path towards common ground, awareness, and new knowledge.
I've been writing for as long as I can remember. From childhood journals to long-form pieces in graduate school, writing has and continues to be one of my greatest joys. I've fallen in love with how writing captures my life experiences, how it connects me with others, and the way it preserves memories and life experiences.
From copywriting to opinion pieces, writing provides me with a way to showcase diverse people, places, and products. Outside of commercial writing, personal blogging continues to be my favorite medium. It was my first exposure to writing, and sparked an passion to share my life and experiences, that which has impacted me most significantly, with others.
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Today will be the first day in over a year that I won’t take a little white pill from the prescription bottle on my dresser.
I’m halfway through the process of transitioning off my psychiatric mediation, and I think this milestone has prompted me to reflect quite a bit on what the last year has held, in the midst of valleys and mountains, triumphs and challenges, and strength in the face of overwhelming adversity…
I had never been to Alaska before.
The farthest north I think I've traveled was with my high school chamber choir, up to Vancouver when I was 16. I remember walking around downtown, sun barely beginning to set at 9pm, amazed by the difference just traveling up the continent had. It was a warm summer evening, folks out and about enjoying the relaxed environment. The promise of unfamiliar sights and sounds was stirring in my soul. I remember feeling excited about what each day held on our trip…
I started running again this past week.
I’ve never been much of a distance runner. I used to despise conditioning in high school, whether it was running sidelines during basketball practice or stadiums in the hot August afternoons after tennis practice was over. I’d much rather be doing “something” rather than the nothingness that I felt while running.
Why do people do this anyway,
I would ask myself as I huffed and puffed my way through a mile run in PE. It didn’t feel fulfilling. It just made me tired. Sometime between then and now, I figured out running is kind of therapeutic. And God knows I’ve leaned into anything therapeutic over the past year…
It makes sense, right?
I've found myself in the same spot again -- sitting at my desk, a blank blog post in front of me, with things I probably should be doing (ie: job applications, cover letter drafting, thinking about and making decisions, etc). Instead, I find myself pulled to this blank space, I find myself sitting down and writing. I can't fight the urge, and maybe I shouldn't.
It has been one hell of a year so far.
I wish I meant that in a good way.
Some of you know what's been going on in my life seven months, and some of you may be completely surprised at what I'm about to write. Look, I don't apologize for basically dropping off the face of the planet for a while -- I needed to take time to lay low and be around the basic comforts of life. My parents, my childhood bedroom, my hometown, I needed simplicity and silence as I picked up the torn fabric of my life and future plans, and began stitching them back together…