A Tiny Ray Of Light

Before my divorce a few years ago, I would write. Pages and pages, hundreds of thousands of words. It was easy, it flowed out of my fingertips. I loved writing. It was easy for me, like a form of journaling, without the lamenting and monotony.

All the plots I wrote had very similar themes. They were based around a strong, self assured female character and the adventures she had. She was smart, skilled, and fought through many hard times. She always met a heroic male, who accompany her on her journey, who complimented her and helped her fight the main villain at the end of the book. Together they were triumphant, and lived happily ever after. The heroine was always based on myself, of course. Or rather, the person I wished I could be, in a relationship I wished I could have- living life having adventures and facing challenges with the one I loved.

I’ll save you the drama of explaining my young marriage to you. My husband was a narcissist and very emotionally vacant. After two years of marriage he left me for someone else- which was devastating, but has made me a completely different person. Since that event, I have grown into a strong, self-assured woman, and am able to make hard choices and move forward in life.

Since meeting my now-fiance, I haven’t been able to write plot like I used to. I’ll open my laptop and lay my fingers across the keys, staring at the blank screen. On one hand it’s infuriating, but on the other hand, it’s liberating.

For so many years I wrote stories about an independent woman who knew what she wanted, had her own voice and could do hard things. I wrote about her meeting a wonderful, loving man whom would help her fight against the injustice in the world.

I guess navigating the icy, snowy Santiam pass isn’t precisely the same as a a climax-worthy villain. But maybe I can’t write like I used to because in theory, there’s nothing to say. For me, writing was simply projecting exactly what I needed onto pages where at least someone could listen. Now, my future has aligned with exactly what I have wanted so much, I have nothing to write about.

I guess for now, writer’s block isn’t all bad.

#writing #writersblock #divorce #relationships

I obsessively collect two things. Books, like most people who like reading and writing, and boxes. They have to be boxes with hinges, like music boxes, jewelry boxes, chests that open and close. There is something about them. If they’re old, mysterious, decorated, I must have them all.

Collections are a funny thing. I always wonder what makes people collect so much of a certain thing. My mom collects carousel horses and bird feeders. My grandma collected those decorative plates that no one was allowed to eat off of.

I am sure there is some psychological reason that makes people collect things- like little crows collecting the shiny things and taking them back to our nests. I’ve never known what it is. For now I’ll credit it to the uniqueness of the human mind.

What do you collect? Do you know why people collect things?

#collection #thoughts #mentalhealth #dailyliving