With writing, anything can happen. It can be cathartic, it can be challenging, it can be courageous or curious. I find it’s an extension of myself being poured out on to paper as white as freshly fallen snow, soon to be defaced. When I sit down to write, sometimes the words flow, flowing as freely as a current moving steadily through its circuit, me amazed at the words being freed from within. Sometimes that circuit can break, with nowhere to go. The lights go out.
Sometimes the words I write will never be seen. Sometimes I want the whole word to read what I have to say. And if my words are read, my only hope is that they resonate with the reader, making us all feel a little less alone in our thoughts. And whilst I don’t write for the likes, the comments, the shares or the feedback, when those things do happen, my heart flutters. If just one person can relate to my words, if my words can fill their head and make the smallest of difference to their thoughts or how they go about their day, I’ve already won. Being told as a writer that your words have had such an impact is an irreplaceable feeling. And on those days where connections are made, you realise the power writing can have.
Sometimes the words I share will be left unread by all, a subject of no interest to anyone but myself. Not everything you write will hit the mark and sometimes it can feel like you are shouting into a void with nobody around to care about what you have to say. I can then find myself spiralling, conjuring up ideas of topics that people will want to read. It’s in those moments where it feels as if I’m swimming against the tide, that I remember these words from Liz Gilbert, “we write what we need to write or are able to write. And then we must release that writing recognising that whatever happens to it next is somehow none of our business”. It’s ok to get disheartened when you feel nobody else cares, but on those days, I gently remind myself of my one non-negotiable - remaining authentic to myself.
I do this for me.
I worry that one day I’ll dry up, my creativity squeezed of all it’s got. I hope my writing practise carries on for years to come allowing me to create a story of my life. I like the idea of having a catalogue of my thoughts to look back on, to be able to see how far I’ve come. I imagine myself flicking through the pages of my past, laughing, crying, cringing, saying “oh yes, I remember that!”. I want to continue adding to the story, line by line, chapter by chapter, thought by thought. I wonder what I will be writing about in five years time as I near my next decade of life? How will my view of the world have changed? Imagine having words to look back on from your thirties, your forties, your fifties, your sixties, watching yourself change throughout the pages. What a fascinating gift for your future self.
Right now, writing fits seamlessly into my life. I write every day. It may be a page or it may be ten. Some days it’s an emotional outpour, or it can be a moment I want to be captured forever, an idea, a quick thought, maybe a response to a journal prompt. Perhaps it’s the way the morning light casts its shadow or my thoughts on the meaning of it all. Maybe it’s simply a to do list for the day ahead. No matter the outcome, I can’t imagine a life where it doesn't exist. There will be times I know where a pause will be needed, through choice or otherwise, but writing will always be there for me, waiting to be explored again.
Where do I see my writing taking me? I honestly can’t say. I love sharing my writing on here, honing my craft, exploring my creativity, meeting wonderfully like-minded people and carrying on the conversations in the comments. I think all writers would love to write for a living, it being the ultimate dream. Whether my writing goes far and wide or decides to remain close by, I will always be grateful for this hobby of mine.
Communicating with the written word has always come more naturally to me. I’ve often struggled to find the right words to say but I can always find comfort in being able to find the right words to write.
Writing gives me time to think about what I want to say, the time to think about how I want to say it.
It gives me time to breath.
Writing gives me space to explore my thoughts and feelings, space to wander down new avenues or well-trodden paths, space to be me.
And even though over the years my spoken word has grown in confidence and maturity, writing will always be the chosen one.
It’s as if I was always meant to write.
I can’t believe I’ve been writing on Substack for a little over 6 months now. I’ve loved every minute! Thank you as always for being here and if you are enjoying what you read, please let me know and also let me know of anything you would like to see from me over the next few months 💜
And if you haven’t already, you can check out my latest travel journal and keep up to date with mine and my husbands overlanding road trip through Europe!
A beautiful post about a beautiful craft. Lyndsay, you're a beautiful writer.
♥️
Yay for six months! 🏆 And yay for the next, and the next, and the next!
It’s such a pleasure reading your article each week Lyndsay. It’s now a firm part of my Friday morning ritual. It always piques my thoughts about how I feel about the subjects you write about. I know you will continue to write but just in case you decide to stop, for whatever reason, just remember Friday mornings won’t be the same for at least one person out there! xx