Um… hello.
I
have something to say.
We
all do really. Have something to say, a story to tell.
I
have had words in my head every day since I was little. They were creative
then. Flowing and floating and imaginative, forming pretend worlds and friendly
experiences. They were louder then too, and I boldly put them on paper, not
afraid of what they looked like. I showed them to others, and once they
even appeared in a newspaper, words woven together into a story about how to
save Christmas when the reindeer all came down with a cold. Wishing, I wrote,
made it happen.
As I
grew older, people around me began to quiet my words. The words made me
different. I scribbled them down once in a while, but I hid them. In journals,
under my bed. I didn’t share them anymore, except in assignments for school. My
pencil would burn across a page as I put passion into any subject I wrote
about. Queen Elizabeth I, the AIDS epidemic, Malcom X, The Canterbury
Tales.
Life,
then, kept them silent. Figuring out who I was, what I was doing. Surviving,
busyness. Pick an excuse. I used it. But I really think I was just afraid. Afraid
of my words. That they wouldn’t be understood. That they wouldn’t matter. That
they wouldn’t hold the power to someone else that they held to me. So I kept
them to myself, where they danced around daily, connecting together into poems
and chapters and stories. But they were sung only in my mind. They were heard
only by me. And it made me lonely.
Books
became my friends and the words of other writers. Oh, the things that they
could show me, the worlds I could explore, the emotions I could feel. Words
feed an insatiable hunger to know more, they satisfy wanderlust, they allow one
to imagine the possibility that they just might be something more. Stronger,
braver, kinder, fiercer. They were beautiful. The experiences that were gifted
to me through the words of others.
Over
the years I have met people. People who encouraged me to share what I had made
myself afraid to share. So, once in a while I let some out, the words. Timidly
put my thoughts on paper. Gave my sentences away. And it was lovely to do so.
I am
still fearful. Hesitant to put my words on display. It is a bit like exposing a
piece of one’s soul. But I remember how magnificent is the view of the
quintessence of others bound between the covers of a book and how moving are
the lyrics and notes composed within a song. I have seen tears on the faces of
people as they were affected by the depth of what one can say to another.
That
wishing really could make it happen. That the believing that saved Christmas,
could maybe save me. But alas, it is trusting that makes it happen. And that is
perhaps a bit harder. Trusting that others will handle these little bits of
your soul with care. That it will matter to someone.
So….
hello.
I
have something to say.
To you.
