interlude

When I was a little girl, I used to journal religiously. I have since stopped, now knowing that journaling every day isn't something I particularly enjoy. But when I was little, I would get diaries for Christmas every year. I still remember many of them: the green leather pattern book that I wrote down the lyrics to every Owl City song in. The Barlow Girl giveaway that I filled up with dreams. And the bedazzled pink one with a lock, in which I made up my own code so I could write about things I didn't want anyone to see (even though there was a lock on the cover).

When I say that I journaled religiously, what I mean is that I would write down everything that ever happened to me in the pages, whenever I would update them. When I had time, I would write everyday. But as I got into middle school, I had less and less time, and the times I wrote would happen further and further apart. As I lived in the intervals, I would fill myself up with priceless memories and feelings, and when I finally had time to return to the journal, I would feel an obligation to engrave the details of the past few months on the blank pages. And so I would spend hours recalling and writing, until my hand cramped up. I wasn't enjoying the memories anymore, or even processing them. I was cramming them in. Quantity over quality. Facts over poetry.

Cramming in memories. Does that sound familiar? From where I sit now, at the beginning of fall break, I feel mainly relief. For the past few months, I've been balancing two jobs, school, a senior show that I wrote, car problems, editing a magazine, and a full blown musical. The reason I was absent from blogging, however, is not because of any of that, but rather because my laptop broke in August (I left you all hanging on the wedding series, I know). But there's something about writing a blog post from wherever you choose and feeling like you're actually typing that prohibits me from blogging in any other style. And so I chose not to write.

This morning I decided to check on my latptop, and, to my surprise it turned on. For such a time as this, I wondered? I have so much to write about, and I feel as if I actually have time to write now. But in this moment, I decide to use the post I'm writing now by way of reintroduction. As an interlude. A way of saying, wow, life has been crazy, and I am taking time and alphabetical letters to acknowledge that I was crushingly busy.

In the interlude, I don't have to be anything to anyone. This post doesn't have to go anywhere, mean anything, or end with something special. In this post, I am taking my time appreciating what it feels like to have keys under my fingertips, and how it feels to actually want to write something, even if it's just a journal.

A lot of things have happened between August and today, October 9. Here's some of the chaos: I went to Hawaii and deleted all of the footage off of my camera accidentally. My car, with 6 girls in it, broke down in Worthington, MN. My phone's home button nearly fell off, so I bought a new one. I've gone for a solid month without buying groceries, and instead eating solely processed food because I felt like I didn't have time to take care of myself. I've been ignoring Jesus up until recently.

But here's some of the good things, things that you'll probably hear a lot about soon: I went to Hawaii for the first time ever. Five friends and I went to the state fair. I got cast in a musical. My family came to town. My play about color was sold out all three nights. I've been feeling a tug to run to Jesus and fall in love all over again with Him.

So in this interlude, I take that time. It's mine. I take the time to say I am exhausted, and grateful, and inspired. I don't apologize to myself for the fact that I have missed to opportunity to write and write and write about the special things that happen to me everyday. I recognize that my laptop could die tomorrow, but I also recognize how important it is for me to write. I understand now that writing isn't about hitting every plot point, but rather about spending obsequious amounts of time discussing the smallest things and how beautiful they are.

I don't journal like I used to. Now I journal through photos, poems, and blogs. Through introspection and on vsco. Via art. So now, as I'm sitting in my living room watching Mo arrange flowers and Naomi toss Thea's tennis ball down the hall, I journal in the way I like best: slowly, intentionally, lovingly, artfully.