The Six of Cups

Reconnecting With the Past

Every once in a while, I go to the Internet Archive and I look up my first blog, which I kept starting in 2001. It’s full of my anxiety about the war, politics, my body, my depression, my job, and my future. Much like any effort I’ve had in journaling, it’s sporadic. It ranges from the mundane to the spiritual. Since I learned to read, writing has always been what I’ve wanted to do. It’s also how I’ve processed my world.

I know so many people who feel lost, who aren’t sure what they want from this world, or aren’t sure what dream they want to pursue. I feel very privileged that it’s not the case for me.

It doesn’t even matter how I write. I am an adept typist, but I still often grab a pen and paper when I’m looking to think through something. (I’ve also got an endless love of and fascination with office supplies — it’s exciting to browse pens, paper, stapleless staplers. . . ) Regardless of the method I use to capture words — writing is what I always return to.

As long as I’ve been able to, I’ve used language to understand my mind. Sometimes, I’ve shared those words and have come understand myself better for it. My emails are even more revealing. I’ve always relished personal correspondence, engaging with a variety of pen pals on everything from philosophy, technology, and trauma. From the age of 5 until, now, 48, I’ve used the written word to build worlds in addition to exploring the one I inhabit.