I am a ‘word’ girl
I love words & I love writing. When I can use my voice to help someone, it feeds me. On those days when words seem to flow directly from my head or heart through my fingers into a blog or journal entry, I feel accomplished.
I think I was always aware at some level that words are a gift for me. I do believe that it is gift I use to help others but the gift is also a for me. It is self-expression, it is part of my journey. Words express everything for me in the same way an artist might use paint & a canvas to express themselves. It helps me identify my crazy, my dreams, my fears, my sadness as well as my grief. It helps me learn as well as teach. Listening to people speak, reading what people have written & been willing to share fill me with hope and inspiration.
I didn’t totally understand the gift for a long time. When I was young, I thought in order to be a writer, you needed to write a book. I still have pages & pages of stories that I started but could never complete. My writing was never a in a story format, beginning, middle & end thing. There was never a clear story line for me that I was able to find so easily in the romance novels I consumed as a form of sustenance (I loved reading so much, I could literally read a novel during my high school day by making sure I had one of those open desks where I could hide it while the teacher was yapping). After numerous beginnings, I really didn’t write for years. I didn’t realize that writing doesn’t have to be the next great novel. In order to provide some context as well, I used a typewriter (there were cool, new electric ones that were just before the revelation of the computer) or a notebook & a pen. There were no blogs, twitter, facebook, tumbler or word press available to show me that writing does not need to conform strictly to a storyline.
While I was not really ‘writing’, I read books, a lot of books. For many years they were romance novels. There were moments that it basically made no difference what the subject was, I just needed to read. Fiction and then the self-help, inspirational books have taken over.
I listen to music. Lyrics often move me, I love voices, I love harmony, beautiful melodies, powerful beats. Music makes me happy, music makes me sad. I wrap life experiences around songs. Almost always because of the lyrics, yup…the words.
The other thing that happened was that I learned to really listen. Thankfully, the word gift can use any number of vehicles, when I was unable to write, I learned to use my words to help people who needed someone to hear them.
Listening sounds simple but in fact is actually difficult. Really listening often competes with our need to be heard. Think about the last time you were in a conversation either with a few people or even just one other person. They begin speaking and you are listening. It’s all good until your brain starts screaming at you to say something, suddenly you aren’t listening anymore, you are literally figuring out how to be heard. How you can say what you want to say, how to impart your wisdom, your own story into the conversation, instead of listening. We all do it, all the time. What I try to do (sometimes well & other times, not so much) is to try to be very aware & go into conversations or social gathering with the intention of not just blurting out things, to really listen to the person who is speaking. Just because I want to be heard, does not mean it is what the other person needs to hear. If you truly actively listen, the right words will come at the right time.
A universal truth, we all want to be heard.
I can not tell you the satisfaction I feel after talking to someone & being able to help them reflect back their feeling, to offer observations, to offer suggestions of things that may help them figure out what they need to or want to do.
So, that was a lot of words to tell you what you probably assumed since I have a blog. The reason why I used words today? Well, partially because it just all came together in a somewhat cohesive way, and partially because ‘I love words’ was running through my brain demanding to be acknowledged.