You know, life seems to move way too fast sometimes.
In the past 5 months, I've moved to a different city, started a new job, gotten married, thought about going back to school, applied for my teaching license, watched my husband get his first job in the USA, and a thousand of other little things that just seem like a blur as time as passed by so incredibly quick - quicker than I thought possible.
Every single year, I tell myself to blog, to write, to take the time to measure the moments more heavily by reflecting upon them more deeply. But, as you know, life moves at a quick pace and sunsets turn into sunrises so fast that Monday is suddenly Friday and January is suddenly May.
But this weekend, as I was taking the time to soak in the weather and the sights and quality time with my family at an art fair, we walked past a booth for a Writer's Guild and my mom point-blankly told me that I'm a good writer, and did I still write? When my answer - because you already know my excuse, "life is too fast," - was a negative one, she told me that I should continue to write because I'm a good writer. It made me really think, and all of the memories came flooding back - the ones of me sitting in the dark in front of a computer screen during my angst-y teenager years as well as all of the times I spent in college classes doodling down verses to poetry that I would never look at again. I have piles of "journals" where I wrote stories - so many stories - that never went anywhere except the lines of those pages. I have stacks of poems written for people, about people, about situations and feelings and so many things that I cannot even remember who or when or how those poems came to being.
A lot of times I tell myself that my life is particularly boring or mundane or normal, and no one - I mean, no one, will want to read about my day-to-day stories about work or students or my personal life. And I find that I'm often very long-winded when I write, which I guess is not something that attracts readers, in general. It's like I have so much bottled up inside that after months of not writing, all of it comes spilling out in a regurgitation-type style of writing.
My point of all of this is that I want to promise that I will continue to blog, but it has to be an ever-present thing on my "to-do" list - because, let's be honest, I might forget tomorrow or next week that this blog exists - and I desperately want to remember because years from now, I want to look back and reminisce about those moments that I took the time to really reflect upon. Because those will be the memories that will mean the most - when memories fade, words stay. And I can always look back at words, when my memory doesn't suffice anymore.