What makes you feel alive?
A question I quite frequently return to when life seems to become stagnant. A question that seems to put things so quickly into perspective. A question that at so many closed-door moments of my life I couldn’t answer, or more so that I wasn’t ready to answer.
One thing that has be unwavering for me has always been writing. It was always something I could come back to. It was the one thing I could depend on. I could leave it all on the page, not having to save face or hold back & it allowed for me to consistently walk away feeling relieved and comforted, no matter the chaos that swarmed me.
When I was young, I would write little stories and staple pieces of paper together resembling something like a book. I would write about my friends and our adventures outside or about my last sleepover endeavor. It’s silly to me now but at those very moments it was everything to me. It meant everything to me. I was carving out the biggest passion I’ve always been able to return to even at such a young age. I’m sure that my mom has those little books tucked away in my keep sakes now but it’s always been so surprising to me that telling even the simplest of stories gave me so much joy, so much pride.
To answer this question now, to have answered it when I was six, what makes me feel alive has always been writing. Writing has been my greatest way of expressing ever since I can remember. Time and time again when any emotional shift would occur, I knew creating the space to write and reflect would help me to process and hopefully in return grow from it.
Unfortunately, to my own demise, I stopped writing because of the vulnerability that it required. I lost my passion for writing after losing someone that I shared almost every written piece I had done with. I felt that if I stopped writing that it would somehow make it unreal, untrue. For so long after, I had felt as if they had been undeserving of reading the most vulnerable pieces of me. I am so glad that I have found or rather uncovered this piece of me again. I am so regretful of tucking this part of me away, waiting to find meaning again just like you’re favorite book being put away on your shelf and forgetting the beautiful journey it once took you on.
Although, I went through these moments of feeling so fraudulent when I would sit down to try and write, it has brought me here; healed, remembering, but choosing to create again because it is who I am, it is what I am breathing into this world, and anyone is welcome to visit.
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Amy Rose
