I believe in words as life-changing sources of inspiration which can have a significant impact on our lives.
Many years ago, I wondered why we needed to read and study the works of old authors. It was not until I came to college that I heard an answer that truly satisfied me. One of my professors explained to the class that literature provides a medium for the dead to speak to the living. It’s true: the dead are still connecting with the living every single time their book is opened up. The fact that we still want to, and, in fact, have to read these aged pieces is what truly amazes me. I want to be a part of creating such a timeless work of art. I want to affect other people in the way that reading has so deeply touched me.
While reading can be motivating and life-changing, writing is what truly moves me. When I am going through either something terrible or something wonderful, I can feel the words inside of me. It’s as if they are pushing from within me, trying to burst out and be heard. I often feel them lurking inside of my stomach and making my heart heavy until I finally allow them to flow freely out of my soul and onto the paper. After I allow them out, that’s when I genuinely feel content.
My Dad and I have always been extremely close, but in a different way that is often difficult to describe. It’s as if we can be comfortable together without many words: understanding, even in silence. He often cannot find the words to say to express his emotions and, therefore, I often did not state my thoughts either. This continued until one day when I got that familiar feeling inside of me: the urge to write. I wrote and wrote and wrote about my feelings about my Father. I liked what I wrote so much that I condensed it, copied it onto a card, and gave it to my Dad. He read it and actually became teary eyed. While our previous silence was comfortable, I knew it was more important for him to know how I felt and to see that I cared. We have been much closer since that day.
While many people have had an experience like the one I had with my Father, mine was much more than just letting him know that I supported him. It was the day that I truly realized that I needed to write in order to live. If I could never use a pen and paper again, a part of me would die. This is how I know that words make us who we are. The things within us, things that no one can see or even imagine to know come alive with every mark on a page, every verbal exchange, each and every whispered word. I believe we can do it. We can touch lives through the use of words.
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