I’m losing interest, falling asleep and getting hungry while trying to do school stuff. I leave the computer and go to the back room to finish a cinnamon roll and some coffee from last night. I’m doing school stuff again, but it’s just not right and I know I can’t get any real work done right now, so I veer off and decide I’m going to continue my sporadic job search which began last week or so. Over to the side of the main screen are ads and one right in the middle is entitled “Writing To Remember Who You Are During A Tough Job Search”. “Writing to remember who you are…” Isn’t that a nice idea? Isn’t that true for so many of us?
How many of us write to remember who we are after being lost in wrong decisions or other people’s expectations? How many of us write to find out who we are after living our whole lives for others? How many times have I done that? How many times have I written because I couldn’t place my finger on, or put a name to, something that was so potent within me, so very present? How many times do I write because I am changing and cannot see it right in front of me, but can only feel it somewhere in the periphery? How many times has writing given strength to memories I didn’t think were strong at all?
I have no idea how writing to remember who you are will help you during a tough job search, or how those things are even related, but writing does help me to preserve memories and discover parts of myself that I don’t readily come into contact with. It allows me to express things that I can’t say out loud, that I can’t say directly to anyone, including myself. It allows me to speak to people and situations that I don’t know exist. It helps me to create pictures in my mind, which is a wonderful compensation for my lack of artistic skill with such things as pencils and paintbrushes. Writing is my music and my art, my dance floor and my canvas.