For the past several months—quite a few months before I left my job—I’ve been carrying around an article I read about quitting your job and traveling, written by Jessica Yurasek. I keep it in my purse, my computer bag, even as a book marker. The reason I keep it is to remind myself of what really matters. It’s not just the message of the article that struck home with me, although that is powerful and attractive enough; it’s the way the author chose to convey the message. It’s the words she used that caught my attention and have continued to hold it.
“You should do this because travel will make you feel more alive. It will inspire you again, kindling that lost flicker of creativity until new ideas start to boil and bubble from deep within. It will allow you to create more, to feel freedom again, and to start your life anew.”
I came across an article last week that got me thinking about reading. The article was featured in an online publication called the DorsetECHO, named after the county in South West England. The headline read “BBC journalist Kate [Adie] pays tribute to the bravery of adults learning to read”. It’s really no surprise that this article caught my attention; for those of you who know me, you’ll be familiar with my motto that reading is my one addiction (besides Mexican food). I love reading, always have, and it’s hard for me to imagine what it would be like not to be able to do it.
One of the hardest things about writing—and don’t get me wrong, there are many; this is just one of them—is finding a quiet place to write where you won’t be disturbed. I swear that every time I settle down and start to work, someone moseys up and enters “my special place.” It’s almost as though the sight of me sitting there, engrossed in my work, sends a direct signal to those nearby that says, “Hey, she looks like she could use a friend. Let’s have a chat!”
In my head I hear the sound
In my imagination it is a melody
I have captured perfectly.
Her days are spent shape-shifting, trying on new faces and bodies like hats, switching out arms and limbs like a sweater. No one knows she’s been here always.