I have a desire to write today, but there is a conflict within me as to which topic to address. I have been reflecting on many things lately. Perhaps I will write two different blogs. Or I may find that writing just one fulfills my need to write and postpone the other for another time.
I want to write about my continued small efforts in learning Spanish. And when I started writing this post I really thought that was going to be its direction. The following is my original–before edited–second paragraph:
In looking at my posts from the Admin page, I noticed one I began last November. It is a Spanish post. I was trying to tell about an event that I read about in a book. I still would like to finish that blog–someday. But today, my Spanish is taking me in another direction. And it seems that it is this direction that has the greatest urgency to get out of me.
So, as I said, I thought this post was going to be about Spanish. But it isn’t. I guess, like many of my posts, it is about me. About more of the things that make me who I am.
I always edit my posts several times before I get it the way it seems to flow best to tell my thoughts. I will usually cut and paste paragraphs to put them in a different position. As my thought flow into my hands I seem to change course as I go. Once in a while I will completely remove a paragraph that just doesn’t go with the way my thoughts have traveled. But for some reason, today I felt the need to leave the paragraph about intending to write the Spanish post. (Maybe is my note to myself not to forget about it,)
Sometimes after I have posted I see things that I wish I would have said differently. Occasionally I change a post, but usually just leave it. In a way it seems to help me to go back and read what I had previously written. I can then reflect on whether I still feel the same way or if I have changed.
While I have always had ideas and thoughts swirling around in my mind, writing is still somewhat new to me. The actual putting my thoughts down, where they are open to all is a little scary, but mostly it’s exhilarating. Although I don’t understand why, it really gives me a thrill to actually write.
I recently told a friend that I have always made up stories in my head. I had felt that I was an oddity because of this. But she told me that she did that too. She said probably many people do. She said that her husband had said she ought to be a writer, with all her stories. I wonder if my stories are why I feel the need to write?
I doubt if I will ever actually write my stories. They evolve and become more like sagas. Sometimes months or even years will go by and then some event triggers a memory and I’m back to a certain family or individual from one of my stories. (Before I mentioned my stories to my friend I used to refer to them in my mind as “the books in my head”.)
I’ve realized, lately, that these stories have a purpose. Sometimes they have just filled a feeling of aloneness inside me. By the way, I do know that aloneness is not really a word, but that is the feeling I have had sometimes. Not really lonely. Just alone.
Although, I have also used the stories when I was feeling lonely, wanting to be with others or missing someone, I have used them most often when I was feeling alone. Feeling alone–aloneness–can occur even when others are around. It’s hard to explain, but it is a feeling of being separate, not completely a part of what is going on around me. That feeling would sometimes carry over for days or perhaps even weeks where in little moments of quiet I enjoy my “stories”.
One of the reason, aside from my feeling of being an oddity, that I had never mentioned my stories to anyone before was because of the movie “Psycho”. I didn’t want anyone to think I was turning into someone else. This seems a little silly now, because I knew I had a grip on reality. It was just stories.
Yet, in a way, I became a part of those stories. I felt the emotions. Now I realize that the stories have helped vent emotions that were bottled up inside of me. Even now, sometimes I use the stories to release a strong emotion that for some reason or other I just can’t face in my day to day life. I can cry, laugh, be enraged, etc about the stories, instead of venting on those around me. As I write this I realize that is how people use movies, music and maybe even sports and other entertainment.
Now that I no longer feel guilty for my stories, they have taken hold of me in a new way. I have starting writing/composing songs in my mind. Again, they will probably never be written, but they fill a need inside of me.
And through those “songs in my head” I have become enthralled with some types of music that I never before liked. I do want to write about that, but not quite yet. I want to see if it is just a temporary quirk or if is is something that will remain.
Even though, once again, this post has turned into something completely different than what I had intended, it has expressed some thoughts and feelings inside me. And this time, interestingly enough, I believe I still have the time, energy, desire to write the Spanish post. So, hopefully, you will soon see that one.
learning2leftovers 