RUSHVILLE — I've taken a very hesitant break from writing lately. Part of the reason simply had to do with time. (I wasn't finding enough of it!) Some of it was lack of motivation, I think. But I began to wonder and ask myself some questions. First of all, does anyone even care about what I'm writing? Which brought me to this next question. WHY am I writing? It seems like a ridiculous question I suppose. However, I tend to analyze and then over-analyze almost everything. So this should be no exception.
Shortly after my dad died I put together a list of “things I've learned”. Some of these things were straight from my dad, some were from life in general, some were silly, and others were not. I reviewed that list and came upon a very telling moment. My primary reason for writing is because..................I'm afraid to forget.
Now I'm not just talking about these little tidbits that you read. (Although they are certainly included.) I'm also referring to those silly lists I'm constantly making (curse those dang post-it notes!) Everything from what I should pick up at the store, to things I need to finish before my granddaughter can spend the night (she IS the center of attention for her stay), to the conversation I had with my best friend at dinner. That's quite a variety of topics that range from kinda important to crucial in my opinion.
Obviously, my world won't come to an end if I forget my Garnier Fructis Avacado Conditioner (I'll be reminding myself of that tomorrow morning). Yet when I want to recall a special event or memory, I find that to be of utmost importance. I never want to forget how it felt riding in my dads' truck. I always want to remember walking through my grandparents' meticulous garden (not a weed to be found). I want to remember the joy of watching my boys in their victories. And I never want to lose the feeling of the moment when I first heard “I love you” and I actually believed it.
My mind is full of the dumbest, most useless information. If only I could crowd out things like my first high school boyfriends' home phone number (seriously.....why is THAT still in there?). And do I really need to remember which clothes were hand-me-downs from the neighbor and which were Christmas gifts from my great-aunt and extended family? (Connie, I really did appreciate the clothes, I promise.)
All joking aside, this is what it boils down to. I'm afraid to forget the important stuff. And in case you haven't figured it out yet, life is short and fragile (even if you live to be 100). People are gone in an instant and those memories are all that's left. So I write to help me remember the sound of a voice, the smell of a kitchen, the feel of a truck seat, the taste of a kiss, or even the once-annoying bird outside a window (he always woke me up at grandma's house).
So whether anyone else cares about my writing or not, I'll continue. Some of it will be senseless. Some will be sad. Some will be thought-provoking. But at least I know WHY I write. Another lesson learned.