The Journey Back
It’s been a couple years since I really wrote anything.
No journaling. It’s better to let those feeling come and go
than to memorialize them for future me to re-feel.
No personal emails, letter, cards, or even postcards. What
could I possibly have to say?
No blogging. (But you knew that.) No revealing myself. No letting
the inside out.
Writing for me is a uniquely personal art. Whether it’s a
birthday card, an academic essay, or a blog post, I ruminate creatively for
some time before attempting to let the words escape, capturing them forever in
words as black and white as they are colorful. The words I write are the gifts
I give to any reader who should stumble upon them, a product of my thoughts, experiences,
beliefs, and heart.
And when that heart was broken, overwhelmed with a pain that
no words can begin to describe, I fell silent. I felt silenced. I felt unworthy
to open my mouth - to pick up my pen – scared that those words I used to love
sharing would be poisoned. Haunted by the knowledge that anything pouring from
my heart would be blackened, evoking a response of suffocating loss that,
unbeknown to the unsuspecting reader, echoed the very depths of my broken
person.
So I stayed silent.
For two years.
Learning the internal lessons of unprecedented loss.
And learning to once again deem my words worthy of
expression – even those words tinged with brokenness. Because who among us is
not at least a bit broken?
Crossing the Summit
Now the words have slowly begun to return.
And with them came the fear. The fear that no one would
accept them. The fear that I had lost my skills. The fear that I would never
succeed in their proper expression. The fear that no one would notice.
The fear that someone would.
See, I told myself I was waiting until I found the right
subject, the right medium, the right audience. Should I update my personal blog
or my travel blog? Serious or amusing? English or Spanish? Should I write for
my friends or try to gain an internet following?
But all of those questions served to cover up my real fear.
My fear that if I wrote, no matter the topic, venue, or reader, I would shine
through. Me. In all my brokenness. And that people would see.
Me.
See me. My life, my fears, my inconsistencies, my dreams, my
failures, my heart, my loss.
Me.
And the fear is legitimate. When I write, I write with my
heart. If people want to see, they will see. Everything.
But I am done being afraid of that.
Where the Journey Leads
Who knows?
What I know is that I am ready to start
writing again. About me.
No more separating my personal and travel blogs.
Traveling is an integral part of who I am, and who I am defines my traveling,
so from now on, I will write from my heart. Whether the topic is work, culture,
dinner, family, or mountains, I will write my words, and you will be able to
find them here.
Where the Journey Starts
With gratitude.
My heart is overwhelmed with gratitude for all the people
who have followed my wanderings this far, and I cannot wait to continue the
journey with you all! Also, for all the experiences I have been able to gather –
not everyone has the chance to really live, and you all know I’m taking my
chance and running with it. And finally, I am so grateful for all of those who
continuously give me hope by their kindness, honesty, and patience.
This seems like a fitting way to start. Maybe my heart isn’t
so black after all.
