Remember the 1960's when it was all about the "identity crisis"? How is that term for a blast from the past? Argh -- the painful process of "finding oneself". How unfortunate for many of us that this search occurred at the same time as bad cramps -- as if one were not enough without the other. Yet -- most of us somehow muddled our way through it all. Must mention -- I have often thought that I would not wish that process on anyone, and I would not want to return to ages 13-19 for any reason. Writing helped me through it though -- no doubt.
Writing continued to be an out for me as time went on. I wrote my way through college, marriage, children, both the good times and the not so good. Writing helped ease my way through many life challenges, including the death of a marriage, and of friends and family. A lot of what I wrote over time, I destroyed. The words were never meant to be shared; they were just a pressure release -- at times a major venting. In fact, I have even advised people to write and then to destroy. Sometimes it is the process that counts... not the communication to others. Writing is, at times, more of a "me" thing. It helps one to sort through it all.
Now at this stage of the game, writing is particularly fun. Perhaps -- fun is not the best choice of words, but it will have to do. At age sixty-five, I seem to be coming into my own as far as the writing thing is concerned. I have the time to write and have found a most pleasant audience for those words I choose to share. Thank you.
As I continue to think about it, I most always have found something to enjoy about my age -- whatever that age was at the moment and regardless of whether I was writing or not at that time. Even now in my "Twilight years" (another interesting expression to be sure), I find a lot to like about where I am. I love being comfortable with who I am, with whom I am becoming. I know where I belong...what I do and do not want to do and... writing helped me find my way here. To me, actually, there is a certain relief in getting older. For one thing, I can wear comfy clothes all the time -- every single minute of every day. I particularly enjoy that option. For another thing, I am relatively comfortable in saying what I want to say. Maturing has taught me to mind my tongue, but even in that "I am totally the boss of me." There is an almost intoxicating freedom in just knowing that you could say something if you really wanted to.
I listened to a great teacher once who talked about stepping outside of oneself and watching the progression and challenges of growing older. His words were a lesson in objectivity that I understood for some reason. I particularly like his use of the word "growing" in the sentence when he is talking about the aging process. In life, one should never stop growing.... Things are happening as they are supposed to happen. Life, too, is a process...lots of fascinating things about which to think and to write whether you are sixteen or let's say... sixty-five.
Writing continued to be an out for me as time went on. I wrote my way through college, marriage, children, both the good times and the not so good. Writing helped ease my way through many life challenges, including the death of a marriage, and of friends and family. A lot of what I wrote over time, I destroyed. The words were never meant to be shared; they were just a pressure release -- at times a major venting. In fact, I have even advised people to write and then to destroy. Sometimes it is the process that counts... not the communication to others. Writing is, at times, more of a "me" thing. It helps one to sort through it all.
Now at this stage of the game, writing is particularly fun. Perhaps -- fun is not the best choice of words, but it will have to do. At age sixty-five, I seem to be coming into my own as far as the writing thing is concerned. I have the time to write and have found a most pleasant audience for those words I choose to share. Thank you.
As I continue to think about it, I most always have found something to enjoy about my age -- whatever that age was at the moment and regardless of whether I was writing or not at that time. Even now in my "Twilight years" (another interesting expression to be sure), I find a lot to like about where I am. I love being comfortable with who I am, with whom I am becoming. I know where I belong...what I do and do not want to do and... writing helped me find my way here. To me, actually, there is a certain relief in getting older. For one thing, I can wear comfy clothes all the time -- every single minute of every day. I particularly enjoy that option. For another thing, I am relatively comfortable in saying what I want to say. Maturing has taught me to mind my tongue, but even in that "I am totally the boss of me." There is an almost intoxicating freedom in just knowing that you could say something if you really wanted to.
I listened to a great teacher once who talked about stepping outside of oneself and watching the progression and challenges of growing older. His words were a lesson in objectivity that I understood for some reason. I particularly like his use of the word "growing" in the sentence when he is talking about the aging process. In life, one should never stop growing.... Things are happening as they are supposed to happen. Life, too, is a process...lots of fascinating things about which to think and to write whether you are sixteen or let's say... sixty-five.
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