The Beauty Of Blogging And Having A Virtual Family

 

 

 

Just over three months ago, something wonderful happened to me. I was adopted into a very large family, though no official papers were signed at the time. I’m thirty-three years old and I’m blessed with a real family of my own, yet I seem to have found myself with a network of relatives in cities and countries I may or may never visit, living lives that I’ll never fully know and eating, sleeping and writing at very different times to me. Let me explain.

 

Just over three months ago, I started a blog on positivity; my philosophy and my religion. I was really looking for an outlet through which to channel my two passions; self-improvement and writing. Like a parent with two equally lovable children, I couldn’t possibly choose a favourite, so I decided this would be the perfect way to unite the two. I do believe that ink has been running through my veins for a while now. It started at around the age of nine, when I wrote secret diaries and fairy stories. This was always snuggled in bed and under the light of a torch, which gave a secret thrill to my pursuit. Quite a few years later my subject changed from that of the fairy variety and I self-published a couple of works. Though this was immensely rewarding, I was still left with so many words flapping through my mind and I had the necessity to set them free. For this reason, I started my blogging adventure.

 

I have never been particularly adventurous, unless moving to a couple of foreign countries counts. I did it alone, if that adds merit! That said, I hate camping. I don’t like extreme sports either. I’m much more of a domestic cat, with the need for a clean bathroom and a comfortable bed. So I hadn’t really considered that starting a blog would be the adventure it has become. I may have felt slightly intimidated otherwise; with the feeling a vertigo you get looking over the edge of a cliff. However, I’m starting to wonder if I may enjoy adventure after all. This is why…

 

One day I wrote a post. I didn’t really expect anything to happen. The next day I found ‘likes’. Barely had I recovered  from this delightful surprise, when I found I had my first follower. My pride was swelling and my smile was beaming. Somebody in the universe cared about what I had to say! Not only did they care, but they even liked the way in which I expressed myself. Don’t get my wrong, for I’m not an orphan in desperate need of love, but that was a real boost to my confidence! What ensued was really rather wonderful, with posts spawning ‘likes’, ‘shares’, comments and followers. I was touching the lives of others with my words AND I was being touched by these very same lives. This is the real beauty of the blogging community. It unites like-minded people who would have never had the chance to meet in ‘reality’. Through connecting in this virtual world, we can share each other’s hopes, dreams, experiences and stories in a way that would have once been unimaginable. We are enriched by unknown ‘relatives’ offering unconditional support and encouragement. We are runners on a marathon and each of us have our own style. While we share the same destination, our way of arriving there is very different. Yet taking part in such a race makes us feel like we belong. It is the love and support of the other racers that helps us get through and ultimately our personal time doesn’t really matter. It’s the experience gained along the way.

 

A Love Affair With Words

I have this fascination, this addiction, this passion, this hatred, this frustration and this absolute necessity in my life. It takes the form of words; strings of vowels and consonants jiggling together in word-necklaces. These words fly through my head like birds trapped within a cage; frantically flapping their wings and looking to soar into the high skies. Yes, these words need to take flight. They need a little help from me; my mind has to structure them into ordered and logical sentences, or creative and imaginative ones. It doesn’t matter. They need to be released, or my mind becomes too filled with these whimsical winged-creatures looking for release.

I’m sure that everybody can relate to what I’m saying. Our thoughts are made up of words. Perhaps there are people who can silence those voices, but if you’re anything like me then that’s very hard. You see, I believe writers have a secret little storyteller inside of them. Something like a miniscule dwarf sitting on a toadstool, somewhere between the conscious and subconscious mind. He always has a book opened, perching precariously on his tiny knees and he never stops reading our loud. At least that is how I imagine it. For where does inspiration really come from?

We all have an innate need for stories. To exchange little snippets of what it means to be human. The exchange of stories is an act of healthy greediness: greedy for the millions of lives we will access only through words. Our imaginations are insatiable. They are tireless travelers who can span any time or place. The imagination has a fellow traveler and his name is Empathy. He travels barefoot and that means he’s always ready to step into somebody else’s shoes. If we take Empathy with us, we’ll always know how another person is feeling, so we’ll have an abundant emotional life. This is what stories are about; amplifying our life experience, through fiction or reality. The only way in which we do this is with words or art.

So whilst it may be fair to say that we love words for their capacity to tell stories, my passion goes way beyond that. I love the sound of words, their shapes and size and their the way they fit together like jigsaws. At around the age of eleven, I discovered foreign languages. I started by dipping a tentative toe into the very romantic French language, followed by a paddle in German. At the age of twenty-one I needed a full immersion, so I went to live in France. When I eventually climbed out of this immense sea, I went back to dry land. However, after very little time I realized that I felt bored with speaking just one language on a daily basis. It was time to travel to Spain, to dive into this feisty Latino sea and have a good swim (wearing armbands, of course). This is exactly what I did and ten years later, I’m still here. Speaking other languages makes you very appreciative of your own; the subtle nuances, the word plays and the idiomatic language. Nowadays speaking English is something of a treat for me and I relish the opportunity to do so. Language is power and language is freedom; it builds bridges and connects people of different lands and cultures. It is a secret weapon.

However, in spite of my love for words, there is one thing I’ve realized. There are moments in life when words are superfluous to communication. I remember when I first came to Spain, standing and watching a majestic and fiery sunset unfurling before my eyes, accompanied by a handsome stranger. I couldn’t speak his language and his English was very poor, yet somehow no words were necessary. Souls communicate in a different language and sometimes silence says it all.

 

 

 

 

 

Early Morning Musings: Why Semi-Wakefulness Is Conducive To Creativity

There is a special time of day when I love to write. It is the time shortly after awakening from a blissful slumber, a time in which the subconscious and conscious mind are still doing a slow dance; tenderly intertwined and moving in perfect harmony. There is a silent communication between these two dance partners; though we cannot hear their thoughts through the words we speak, there is an instinctive understanding.

 

This time of day is not so much about thinking, if not about feeling. All senses are heightened at this moment. Skin is sensitive to touch; to the subtle caress of a partner’s skin against yours, to the enveloping warmth of the covers in which you snuggle and to the exhilaration of the first splashes of hot water down the spine. Sound echoes through the soul more sweetly too; the call of birdsong beckoning the onset of spring, the comforting sound of bare feet padding purposefully across the floor and the sleepy silence of the world that wraps around your very own existence. Sight becomes hyper-sensitized too; the half-light of a shy sunrise paints a tranquil portrait of a city about to spring to life. However, time is suspended at dawn and there is a real perfection in the moment of all that is just about to be.

 

Now is the perfect time to let your uninhibited thoughts and feelings spill onto a page. At this time of the morning, our conscious minds do not filter the content of our thoughts with the rigorous scrutiny that they do later in the day. We will call on these uniformed-officials later on to edit our musings, but for the time being, let the dream-inspired you take over. For there is something thrillingly clandestine about writing at these hours; it’s as if the world was your own, you are creating it in your very own image and nobody knows.

 

Above all, the act of ordering the chaotic inner-world of the mind means to find inner-peace, to free the imagination and to unearth the essence of who you really are. If you choose to share that with others, then that is a supreme act of generosity.

 

Calling all writers (and anybody who writes IS a writer): When do you like writing and why?

 

 

Why We REALLY Write: Writing, Freedom And Magic

When we put pen to paper (or else fingers to keys to screen) something magical happens. A whole new world is created; a world that comes entirely from the deep realms of the imagination. We collude with our imagination, our conscious and subconscious mind to tell a story. This may be real of imaginary, it is of no importance. What really matters is the free flow of our thoughts, spilling out onto the virgin blank page that lays before our eyes. This is freedom, this is temporarily letting go of all our inhibitions. Such constraints may be those placed on us by society, family or those which are self-imposed. Being able to write means being able to let down the barriers for a little while.

Anything is possible in writing. It is the ultimate liberation. All that we hold locked away in fear or shame can be released. All that we desire and crave can find its place too, as our yearning is transformed into words, sentences and paragraphs. Upon this transformation comes a sense of relief, for we have unburdened ourselves of a secret that consumed us. Not only this, but the burden has now taken the form of a creative work of art, whether it is to be kept to ourselves, or else shared with others. If we choose to keep it to ourselves, then we will be able to keep a vivid and nostalgic diary of our lives; something to look back on in the future and pass on to the next generations. We will be immortalizing our life; in a world of all things transient, a little piece of our inner-selves will never disappear. If we find the courage to share our thoughts, we will contribute to this world generously, as we will be giving our version of what it means to be human and live a life of emotions and experiences. As human beings, we need to read such stories, we are hungry for them. We need to feel that our emotions are universally felt, in order to feel like we ‘belong’. On the other hand, we need to celebrate our differences, taking pride in that which stands out and makes us unique. By reading and writing, we can live abundantly, experiencing many different worlds from the comfort of our very own skin. When we write, we can travel to other times, places and live a very different kind of life.

Writing means taking a break from ourselves, leaving our conscious mind and travelling to a dream-inspired reality. It means that we can explore ourselves more deeply, becoming more aware of that which really matters to us. One might say that is writer is a detective, trying to uncover ‘the truth’, or else a psychologist, striving to understand the human condition. What’s for sure is that the juxtaposition of just a few well-chosen words, sentences and paragraphs can have a profound impact on our lives, so we shouldn’t underestimate the magnitude of this magical force…