I have been writing for as long as I can remember. My grade school paper on Abraham Lincoln is a prized possession as is my first diary at age 9. It is pretty humorous to go back and read about what was pressing in those years. Ice skates with pom poms, holding sleepovers at a friend’s house, gossiping about who likes who and realizing that I named my diary. Even at that early age I wanted to write to someone.
I have kept a myriad of letters to and from my grandparents, a penpal in Korea and high school friends. Most recently I treasure those written by my husband. I am in possession of a box of journals all scribed in my adult years. Some days I feel as though I should light a bonfire and send the painful writings into the ether. But even the writings that are hard to read today have value, have been a container to hold what I could not.
Today I continue to write to people I love, to those I miss and into the ether to people I may never meet. This effort still serves a soulful purpose. My current writings are about my work in the field of trauma and ayurveda. The writings I send off from my computer are part of my seva, my attempt to give back to so many who have taught me and walked with me.
Blessings on your journey.