More Learning = Less Writing?
The last 3 months since I last wrote have been hard, yet wonderful, painful, yet elation-creating learning opportunities—hopefully not squandered.
It has felt sad that as I have epiphanies, knowing each I will never recall having once they are incorporated into my who-I-am, that I have not had the energy to convert each into words to remember or share. The more learning packed into my life, the less opportunity there seems to write.
My divorce finalized since last I wrote. It has caused me to think a lot. And feel emotions shockingly strong. And to focus all of my available time on re-orienting, re-engineering, and re-stabilizing my life and the lives of my children when I am with them (which is every day!). And to learn. And yet, I have not written.
This made me feel sad.
I see writing as a way to share. I wish that I had more emotional guidance growing up, and I’ve met people who suffered a similar circumstance. I wish that people did not have to go through the pain I went through, and wouldn’t it be nice if maybe my written experiences helped even one person (“if you bring but one soul unto God, how great will be your joy!”). Yet, I also wonder if that is a bogus thought, because each person has to find their own way through their experiences, growing as they walk and crawl, and so anything I write is instead nothing more than an inscription on a rock seen dimly as one climbs the life-path on a hard day. Yet, then I think of my children, and the idea of having any opportunity to start a conversation that could help them—even if it is from them reading my words some day—causes me to feel… good… about writing.
Writing fills my cup. Though, it is interesting my reading my own writing, since it always sounds so serious, which does not reflect how much I laugh in my life, and smile. It’s a funny image in my mind thinking how my written words are the serious side, and my physical body is the fun and goofy side (yes, Janet, my dear sister, I think you are probably right in labeling me as “Goofy Greg,” even if I must then push for being called “Goofy, yet manly in a bold way, Greg” or “Goofy, but is like Spiderman who can probably kick your butt yet still look slight, Greg”. And what on earth does this have to do with finding time to write when life is difficult? I’m speechless; I have no idea.)
It’s good to be back writing.