Writing is not my thing. It scares me. I put a lot of thought into almost everything I do, and writing is no exception. I have spent countless hours looking for the perfect word, the perfect phrasing, something that sounds intelligent and makes my writing engaging. The academic world has set me up for this. Outlines, drafts, deadlines. A perfect storm for stress and anxiety. I hated writing. I dreaded it with all of my being.

And yet. Whenever I was stressed. Whenever I was tired. Whenever it felt like the world was crashing in, I wrote.

Words came rushing out of me like a tidal wave. After spilling out all of my thoughts, feelings and emotions, I felt calm.

How curious it is that writing can on one hand cause such negative emotion, and yet on the other, be a place to free it.

I want to explore this freedom in writing.        I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

I want my writing to tell stories, make statements, ask questions and explore queries.

I want my writing to arouse joy, produce memories and provoke thought.

Just as when the dust glimmers in the sun.