Little Explosions

I can't get this off my mind, and it can be a little heavy sometimes. And yet, I like the way it feels. There is something beautiful about being a writer, once I get past the constant demand of perfectionism and the intermittent flow of sentences meandering through my brain. It's hard to be where I physically am because my mind is inside an essay or blog post. I try to focus on the here and now, the material, but ideas are like magnets. I can't pull away. I must write. If I can't write, I must think about writing. I'm not talking about the kind of writing that my professors grade. No. While I enjoy this type of writing as well, I'm talking about the writing that means something to me...the kind that hands the microphone over for my voice to come booming out across the planet. Even the little words seem like little explosions. Every blog post lifts a weight from my shoulder. I feel so free. The best part is knowing that someone...somewhere....is reading this. There is this giant, invisible bridge between perfect strangers. I want to meet each one of you. I want to know your story. I want to see your response to what I've written. What are your thoughts? Who are you? Where are you? 

I've always found that my writing has made the biggest connections between me and my teachers, especially English teachers. Now, here I am at college, and the same thing is happening. My English Comp professor has become one of my very favorite people. She has helped affirm my talent, often using the word "genius" to describe the insights and depth to my papers. I'm not sure I agree with that. In fact, I often feel that I don't excel at very many things. Music and writing are the things that satisfy my hunger, so I do them. And I guess I'm okay at them. Having affirmation of my talents makes me feel like I can do anything. I picture having my own office at a university one day, with "Dr." written in front of a name that once seemed so bare. I've never been so full of dreams before. But I must confess that the ability to dream is usually strongly connected to the ability to serve others...and service can be ugly and un-fun. This is selfish, I know. But I'm just being honest.

There isn't a point to this other than my excitement at having gifts that I not only see in myself, but that others (with doctorates) see as well. I find it kind of odd how quickly I was sucked into the English department, but I love it so far. It has changed my view of myself and of others. Even the world around me seems different, and I'm so very glad.