It’s been so long. It’s been too long.
I feel that words have been calling me, pulling me in, begging me to Let Them Be.
I mute them. I go on living. I attempt to have actual conversations with actual people.
I try to hide my journal and forget the passwords to my blogs.
I’ve been living in the Real World,
But my Real World Thoughts were undeveloped, unexpressed, and uninteresting to those I shared them with.
So I let these thoughts dance around in my mind before I went to sleep, while I doodled in my lecture hall, while I drove my car.
And this made me feel crazy. In my very real world, where I could not escape to the internet, I didn’t feel like I was fully engaged in my life. I was disinterested in the things happening around me. I was not impressed by all the things that should have impressed me. I was moody. I wanted to talk and listen to others talk about things that are probably not important, but so intriguing nonetheless.
I’m back to my internet community. I enjoy all the email correspondences, comments, feedback, and everything else from my followers and others who stop by to read what I write. It’s a shame that we’re scattered around the globe and cannot meet for coffee and deep talks.
I want to love life. And I mean really love life. The kind of love where I want to skip in the morning when I’m barely awake, stay up as late as I can laughing, enjoy every single day just because it exists. The kind of love where I want to shower the world in hugs and kisses.
I just want to really love life. I want to be happy and joyful and hopeful. I want to believe that my best is good enough. I want to make others believe that they are more than good enough. I want to be the kind of person I sometimes mistakenly think I am. I want to be certain that the trivial things don’t matter. I want to approach challenges with a curious, unafraid, confident mind.
I want my heart to be open, my life to be full.
I want to love life, and I want it to love me back, too.
I’m sitting in a campus café, overhearing conversations about classes, jobs, internships, etc.
I’m feeling inferior – I am definitely not taking as many classes, not applying to excessively time demanding positions, not doing as much. Period.
But then I step back and drown out the noise.
I have to stop and remind myself:
Grade point averages don’t define my worth (sometimes I wish they did)
The number of classes I am tackling this semester does not define my intelligence.
We all have different talents, work habits, interests.
We all have different plans, world-views, strategies.
We need to stop comparing ourselves to everyone around us –
We need to be the best we can be;
We need to give everything we do a hundred percent,
Success is the reward for effort and perseverance,
Achieve your own goals at your own pace – you’ll be surprised at what you’re capable of.
Listen to your mind, body, heart: Only you know what’s best for you.
Your happiness is yours.
You can keep it, hide it, share it, give it away.
But I suggest you keep it.
Hold onto it as long as you can.
If you hide it – you might forget exactly where you placed it.
If you share it – a fragment of your Happiness will no longer belong to only you.
If you give it away – there is no guarantee that the recipient will value it, because your happiness is best understood and most effective when it belongs to you.
And if you love someone, encourage them to find theirs – whatever that may consists of.
This is where my hope and happiness was found, shared, hidden, broken, and ultimately restored.
I have so much to say, but no ears want to listen.
I think about things that will break your heart.
I scribble in my notebook, but I feel no peace.
I have felt better, I have loved and been loved better.
I have been worth more.
Missing conversations with my best friends.
No matter how much technology tries to convince me, I refuse to abandon my local bookstore.
There’s something about the smell of old books, new books, old bookcases.
There’s something about that old couple who runs the place and smiles, talks, and recommends something from another time.
There’s something about the people who sit in bookstores, so absorbed that they jump when you accidentally step on their toes.
There’s something about the kids who climb the shelves, picking up books and saying, “Daddy I want this one.”
There’s something about the feel of glossy covers, torn edges, printed knowledge.
Time feels unlimited, life feels more simple, happiness less far away.
Instant connection to the past, wisdom, strangers, your own personal thoughts.
I really do hope that the bookstore does not become extinct. I want the future to feel what I feel when I walk inside and stay a while. I really do hope that paper books do not become things of the past. I want the future to know what it’s like to curl up in bed with a good book.