In writing my last article (which you can read right here), I made a profound discovery: I can time travel.
I feel like a magician — or a mad scientist. One or the other. I don’t think it matters which. (Important note: No crazy machines were involved.)
When I sat down at my computer to write that day, I had a mental block — a big one. It seemed like my mind had turned to mud and nothing good was going to come out of it.
(Anyone else have those moments?) 🙋♀️🤦♀️
After going through my normal stages of frustration and self-criticism (all of which I think will accomplish something but never does), I realized there was nothing left to do but go back to basics.
❇️ Why am I writing?
❇️ What do I want to feel from my writing?
❇️ What am I writing about, and how does it make me feel?
I sat back and shut my eyes, focusing only on the subject at hand. Slowly, all the feelings and emotions I wanted to come from my piece began welling up inside of me. My mind sparked with a memory of where these feelings first began for me. The memory unfolded in my mind like a movie, and began flowing from my fingers onto the screen.
I wasn’t just retelling a story. I was reliving it. I was a little girl again, sitting on a wooden floor at my mother’s feet. I could feel every sensation.
And then, the movie in my head changed to the next story, and the next. With each one, I moved through time to another part of my life, reliving it all over again, yet seeing myself in a new light at the same time.
In the span of an hour and a half, I time traveled through many moments in my life, following a common theme that connected each one.
When my mental movie finally ended, I was drained and exhausted. I felt vulnerable and exposed, ready to cry without understanding why.
What was happening to me? Was something wrong?
Then, it came to me. I hadn’t just remembered incidents throughout my life. I had felt the pain and happiness of each one. I felt the joy of good moments and a sadness that there weren’t more of them.
I managed to capture each story in just a few sentences, but I could have written on and on about them. (And you know, there’s nothing a writer loves more than writing on and on.😉)
As I contemplated my unexpected emotions and wiped away a few tears, my anxiety began to leave. I wasn’t afraid that something was wrong with me anymore. In fact, quite the opposite.
I had poured my heart and life out onto the page, infusing every word with feelings that sprang from the core of who I am.
It’s no wonder I was drained.
But I also felt satisfied. Deep down in my gut, I felt an incredible sense of fulfillment as if I had achieved something great for the first time — and I had.
I was honest with myself more than ever before, and I captured thoughts, feelings, and energy in words.
To me, that’s a great accomplishment. That’s the magic of writing.
And time travel made it happen.
I never believed in time travel or had much of an interest in it before, but this is the kind I can get behind.