Writing is Exploration

I am two weeks into grad school, and I feel like I am at a loss of words to describe the sensation. It's tiring, exciting, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. When I was a kid, I was an interesting combination of lazy and ambitious. I had big dreams, my friends. Dreams of success and happiness. I also never ever once believed that I would be able to achieve any of my dreams. I remember very clearly that in elementary school, I was very good at everything I did. When I made it to sixth grade, my grades dropped considerably, and I didn't intend to have it happen that way, it just sort of did. I was so mad at and disappointed in myself that I decided to not bother trying anymore. I had given what I thought was my best and failed. I had let my parents down and I had let myself down. It took me a long, long time to get to a place where I believed I was capable of succeeding in anything, let alone academic pursuits, and even then I didn't really believe that I was actually able to excel.

Something over the years that has really helped me overcome my fear of my shortcomings has been writing. Something about seeing my fears displayed by words has made them tangible to me, and I can handle that, for some weird reason. The blog posts in the past that I have written that have been the most useful to me were the ones that really took some deep, personal stuff, and laid it all out for the blogoshpere to see. Sometime in the past year, I have stopped doing this as much, particularly since I moved to Seattle. I'm not really sure why I stopped, but parts of me regret it.

Something else that used to help me quite a bit was playing music with my friends. At least once or twice a week, I had 2 hours blocked out where everyone would come together in a room and we would create noise. It was so beautiful, and it gave me a deep sense of accomplishment to know that I was creating art. With Everson, I knew that everything happened because I made it happen. This isn't to say that the others involved weren't doing anything, but when it came to practice times and shows, 99% of the time it happened because I made it. It felt good to know that I was capable of making art and organizing other people's schedules to make art. It gave me hope in myself and my ability to do and overcome my failings. With The Indecision, the setup was a little different. I wasn't in charge or making sure practice happened, and if I didn't push, someone else would. But I still made art with some insanely talented people. Dan Jackson is the best songwriter I've ever met, and to know that he trusted me with his songs and allowed me to add my personal touch was an honor. It felt beautiful to create art.

Art is important to me because it allows understanding to take place. I understand myself better and hopefully people understand me better. At this point in my life, art has taken a backseat to preparatory work. I am preparing to support a family. I am preparing to give support to whatever community I end up in. I am preparing myself to be the best therapist that I can possibly be. It's a lot of internalizing, not a lot of creation. I feel the loss in my life. I can't create music right now because I simply do not have the time. Creating music allowed me to exorcise my fears, and at the moment I have nowhere to place my fears, no outlet for my anxieties. It occurred to me that I do still have writing, though. So perhaps I'll start writing more on this blog. I want to write my fears and I want to write my joys. To me, this is a weird kind of art that I can still do. It's expression from me to you that allows for communication in ways that I can't honestly do otherwise.

I'm not sure why writing is so freeing to me, why I can write better than I can speak. It doesn't make much sense, because both use the same things to convey. I could say all of these words out loud to anyone at anytime and it would literally convey the exact same message. Maybe it's because there's no inflection, no tone for anyone to hang onto. True art, the best kind, allows the observer to fill in the blanks with the pieces of their own soul that they don't have a place for. Or maybe it's the other way around, maybe true art allows us to take a piece of what is offered and use it to bridge gaps in our own souls.

Maybe writing is so freeing to me because there's no room for interruption or correction, at least on an immediate level. Agree with me or not, my bit will be spoken by writing and all you can do is write an angry response, maybe stop reading. Every once in a while, someone responds that they don't feel as alone because of what I wrote, and I feel good because I've created a connection in the neurological map of the universe.

Maybe that's what it really is. Connection. I want to connect and be connected with. And maybe that's why I haven't written as much lately. I have a connection. I love the connection that I have. I plan on spending the rest of my life strengthening that connection.

Maybe I shouldn't try to explain anymore.

Dear world,
I intend to write on my blog more often. It helps me sleep better at night.
loves,
~taylor