Traveling alone is, in many ways, a liberating adventure… but like anything, it’s got it’s challenges. Being able to come and go as you please is a blessing, but what is the point of experiencing beautiful places if you without someone to share it with?
Encouraged by my L’Abri tutor and several friends, I took footage throughout my month-long journey aiming to make a video. Doing so helped me through the loneliness that can come with solo travel by giving me a way to bring others into my adventures. As I travelled, the thought of making this video really did help me during the rough days. Instead of feeling sad and mopey about being alone, I was so focused on and excited about capturing my experiences in a creative way that negativity was driven from my mind. The idea kept me going. Continue reading
Everyone always says that the hardest part about going abroad is coming home.
Slowly, I’ve been getting used to being back in America. At first, it was WEIRD. It’s the little things about your own culture that are the oddest, the things you only notice when you’ve been away for a long time. Used to everyone speaking different languages and a wide variety of accents, I found myself wondering why everyone sounded the same. American accents are so bland! Also, accustomed to the reserve of most Europeans, I found the open friendliness of Americans strange. “Why are all of these people being so nice?” I wondered. “I don’t even know them!” Continue reading
Four weeks ago, I was asked an important question: Why do you write? Unsure of how to respond, I gave it some thought and came to the conclusion that I write because I always have and cannot seem to stop.
I’ve learned a few things about myself in the past few weeks. I now realize that, at some point during college, I lost sight of my identity as a writer. It always seemed like my classmates were so much better than I was. Compared to their eloquent prose and poetry, my words felt feeble, hollow, and lifeless. But maybe that is because, all along, I wasn’t doing the right kind of writing. I took creative writing classes, but I’m not a creative writer. I’ve won essay contests, but I’m not an academic. That’s not me.
This place, this blog, these posts… this is me.
So much time has been spent comparing myself with other writers that I’ve forgotten who I am. Participating in Writing 101 has brought everything back. My identity, ultimately, does not stream from my classmates, friends, and fellow bloggers. It comes from myself. It comes from the fact that there are words bubbling from deep within me, waiting to be released. The words pester me. They nag, pulling at the back of my mind. I cannot keep silent.
At the beginning of Writing 101, I stated that I write because I cannot stop. At the end, I find my answer has changed.
I write because I cannot stop; I write because I refuse to stop; I write because this is who I am.
You know those thoughts you get when you wake up in the middle of the night? The hazy, not fully conscious thoughts that float in and out of your mind? In the moments between sleep, waking, and sleep again, the brain invents all sorts of brilliance. At the time, you feel like it’s the stuff great novels are made of, novels that would make Virginia Woolf or James Joyce proud.
Occasionally, your barely conscious self has enough sense to grab a pen and scribble down your mental masterpiece before it sets sail upon the ocean of your subconscious. A few days later, you stumble upon the post-it note where it made its home on the floor of your bedroom.
It reads: “There are holes in the floor of her bathroom.”
That’s when you give yourself a massive facepalm and wonder why you even bother.