Last night I flew in from Texas. The crazy, wild Spring Break island of South Padre is known for the nights one won't remember, drunken embarrassments, and five days turned into a blur that will be reflected upon years later with only head shaking regret.
My Spring Break 2009 could not have been any more opposite.
I do not recall where the switch happened, but somewhere from not knowing where I wanted to go in my life and seeing the ocean for the first time since last summer, my insides screamed at me, bubbling within, demanding my fingers to pick up a pen. To ignore this urge with all its intensity would be disastrous.
A while ago while in Barnes&Noble, doddling like always when it comes to an overwhelming number of books in one place, I found a journal. I don't know why I was drawn to it particularly, it was one of hundreds on a wall. Looking at it now, it just screams peaceful. Maybe at that time all I wanted was peace. Regardless, this taupe-colored Buddha pictured journal became my best friend. My peace. My outlet. My breath of fresh air.
My Buddha Book came with me to South Padre. It smells of salt from the ocean waves splashing upon its surface as I walked the shore for hours. It became my constant. And best of all, it holds my thoughts, my emotions, my heart rythms.
I don't write because I have wanted to since a young age. I don't write because I would love to be a published novelist. I write because it is a necessity. My soul CRAVES to be poured out. My bubbling insides will burst if not, somehow in someway, released.
I write for my sanity. I write to understand myself more. I write so I can maybe figure out this big, huge world, if even just for a second.
So please, read my breath of fresh air. And hopefully wherever you sit at this moment, that air can minister to you as well.