I have the worst memory. My husband is convinced it’s a blessing because I rarely remember things we’ve argued about in the past. And if you don’t remember the argument, you don’t remember how bad it made you feel. (He, on the other hand, gets to remember it all – poor guy). When friends of mine reminisce about elementary, high school or even our college days, I’m lucky if I can recall a quarter of the things they bring up. It can be frustrating and I seriously worry about it sometimes.
The other night I was spending time with my best friend and he asked me why I don’t post more of my own writing on this blog. He said, “You have this blog and no one really knows what a great writer you are.” I know he meant that as a compliment, but for whatever reason those words threw me off and they would continue to play in my mind throughout the next day.
I guess, for me, that was never really the point of this blog. This tiny space of mine has always been about whatever is inspiring me at the moment. Sometimes it’s photos of the ones I love. Sometimes it’s a piece of art I find to be special. And sometimes, when I am brave enough, it’s about something happening deep in my soul.
Tonight I pulled out some old journals of mine. Reading through them was like reading someone else’s story for the first time. Here, were more memories which had managed to escape my mind. But this time I didn’t feel frustration or worry. Because sometimes I write to connect. Sometimes I write to inspire. But mostly, I write to remember.