hand-chopped pesto

As I said in my last post, I think I need to write more. When I studied abroad in Italy, I was an intern for an online Italian newspaper. Every week I would write a short article on my time abroad- the latest element of culture shock, the beautiful moments I was experiencing, a noteworthy comparison between the States and Italy, etc. Some days I truly didn't feel like writing, but I had to make the deadline. So I'd camp at the table in my apartment for an hour or two, drink my coffee, eat some fruit, and write until my thoughts were complete and the page was filled up.

And through it all I learned to love the process of writing. I knew I'd liked it before, but aside from long essays for school I had never been on a regular, mandatory schedule for a piece. Though it was challenging at times, it was wonderful. A constant output of creativity, a workout for the brain and emotions, a chance for a regular voice and expression. If I'm honest, some days the words felt like complete and total BS. But I think that's part of it all. Even if in that moment I didn't believe or resonate with the sentences I was forming, it still was a reminder- of the good things, the hard things, the truth, the reality of our lives and surroundings. An opportunity to be a little more grounded, to snatch at life with my ever-hoping hands and embrace it in all its rawness. It gave me some purpose, some reminder that my words hold value.