I'm just going to write because I cannot help it. Charlotte Bronte
The more entries I place in this journal, the more I ask myself why I'm doing this...and making it public. There are several reasons, and perhaps the first is the most critical for my sense of joy and well-being: Writing offers a protected world where I can express my dreams, emotions, and thoughts. It's a safe haven for discovery; and with that as my foundation, I integrate layer upon layer of Self.
Writing is one of my centering practices; it calms me and keeps me on my spiritual path. If I don't write, I tend to get restless. There are things I need to figure out, relationships I need to sort through, and problems I need to solve. In her book, Storycatcher, Christina Baldwin says, "I believe the kinds of writing millions of us are doing in our diaries and journals are attempts to heal the split in the human mind and in the human experience." Writing helps me get to my truth.
My writing is, on first glance, centered on myself; but I've always believed that to know Self is to know the meaning of life...at least a big part of it. It's all in my writing --the ever-sustaining universal breath, basic needs that connect me with everyone else, and a full range of human emotion. While it might seem that an over-indulgent ego is what propels me or anyone else to write, quite the opposite is true. Writing is my way of never forgetting that life isn't just about me; I know I'm a tiny fleck in the scheme of things. Like Virginia Woolf said, "When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?" I do a lot of thinking about those stars and everything around and beyond them, especially when I'm deep in an ego-propelled frame of mind. Writing helps me heal the split, as Baldwin puts it. It also helps me see life from someone else's perspective.
For most of my adult life, I have struggled with guilt and pain related to my two divorces. I wanted to know why, to understand my role in those failures. Today, I have my answers; threads of understanding and acceptance connect much of what I write. It took many years, but I reached this place by putting my thoughts onto paper with poetry and prose. Writing inspires me to take a closer look at forgiveness, love, and gratitude. Granted, it's a lot easier to write about these things than it is to practice them every day, but the act of writing is the inspirational nudge I need to move forward.
The best I have to share with my children is the essence of who I am. To hide my lessons or dismiss my progress is to deprive them of a basic part of who they are and will become. Someday, from their unique experiences of me, they will garner insights into one life that contributed to theirs. Perhaps they will be 60 years old when they feel like reading, just as I was when I reached for my grandfather's diaries. On those pages, where he wondered if anyone would ever read what he had to say, his adult graddaughter got to cuddle up in his arms again. I could see the metal head band of his hearing aid reach around and into each ear. I could taste the candy corn he always put within reach before he read Uncle Wiggly to me. Most of all, I felt an overwhelming compassion for the physical suffering he endured day after day. His diaries add to my sense of love, belonging, and personal history.
Finally, having my own blog is one way to reach out to others who experience life similarly. It also offers assurance that these writings will always be accessible to my family. Just a few weeks ago, a brush fire came dangerously close to the house. We were ready to evacuate in case the fire spread (which it did not), and had everything together. I was exhausted and had no energy to grab all my journals; but it was comforting to know that someday, a son or grandchild might just stumble onto my blogs.
(c) Sally Z McBain