I used to imagine that I would always be on the move. Needing nothing more than a backpack and the ability to spin silvery words, like glistening webs, heard only for a moment and then gone with the breeze. In a small moment, connecting. Touching briefly the hardest thing on this earth to reach…the heart. That’s why I wanted to write.
I would close my eyes and listen to the wind, completely at peace and weighed down by nothing. Free in the truest sense. I guess somewhere along the line most of us lose some of that freedom. Sometimes without realizing it. Sometimes by choice. Others recognize the fragility of things like peace, freedom and integrity, and they fight for them. I think that is when we lose what we love most…when, just once, we chose not to fight.
It’s easy to get lost in our lives. Side-tracked by all the things that, if we took half a second to look at…are worthless. Even to us. Trouble is we don’t take a second to look most of the time, and when we finally do, all we see are regrets. That’s not what I want to see.
I sit by the river for a long time, letting the sound of the water sooth my mind. It will be my birthday soon. They always seem to surprise me. Years flying by so fast…like pages that are writing themselves. What stories do they tell? What impact have I made? Questions always flood me, filling my eyes … the eyes looking back at me through my reflection. Older. Always older. I didn’t know your eyes could change, but they do.
I guess I’m just wondering about my life. What I want it to be. My regrets. My dreams. It’s good for me to focus. It’s scary … but good. I smile at the words drifting across my screen. I do love to write. To see the words reflect my thoughts so calmly. Making sense to me and reminding me of what I love. And even though another year has passed by … a glimpse out of the corner of my eye … I still feel at peace when I write. I still want to touch hearts and fight for the purer things. I still want to keep moving forward so that when I look at my life again, I can still smile and think to myself … it was all worth it.
The Little Purple Notebook 