Writing.

I have always loved to write. When I was a kid I would write short stories, usually consisting of a girl (me) embarking on some adventure with an animal or two. By no means were they good, the grammar was appalling, but my imagination was so vivid and expanding, I would create multiple tales.

 I can still remember how I would clearly envision the sequence of events to the point where it it felt as though I had lived it. I would get so excited just thinking about my story coming to life that I wouldn’t stop until it was finished.

However, my childhood innocence has since disappeared and real life has been experienced.

While my passion for writing has never died, my willingness to do has. For writing brings things to life and there are some things that I would rather leave dead. I am scared to write certain things for the sole reason that once the words have escaped my mind they are no longer safe. Not only from prying eyes but from myself.

I want to be able to write uninhibited; fearless of what my hand will scrawl onto the paper. In short, I want to tell my story but I am not ready to read it.

 

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A Walk Through the Past

Today I had my field experience orientation at Einstein. It was so weird to walk through the hallways of my old high school. Everything felt so different, yet it felt the same. So many memories came back to me all at once, I could still feel the insecure girl that I used to be somewhere deep inside of me. I saw the bench where I used to sit with my ‘friends’ in 9th grade and the classroom I retreated to when they began to bully me. I passed by the locker me and my 3 friends shared and sat in front of  in 10th grade. I visited my 11th grade English teacher, Ms. Kelly (it took her a second to remember who I was, but when she did she said, “Ah! I remember you, you are a good writer). I don’t really remember anything from 12th grade. I had a half day schedule and as soon as third period was over I was gone.

What I remember the most though, was how much of an influence two of my  English teachers had on me; it is because of them I want to be an English teacher. Now here I am, five years later, walking through these halls again not as a high school student, but as college student.

I have already experienced high school, now it is time for me to observe it. This should be interesting.

 

Einstein's Main Street

Einstein’s Main Street

The First of Many Posts

I have never really had a blog (unless you consider Tumblr a “real” blog). I have always liked the idea of having one, yet, every time I attempted to start one I hesitated. I would sit there looking at a computer screen trying to muster up enough courage to put myself out there and express myself, but I was younger and afraid to put myself out there. I felt as though I had nothing interesting or important to say. I felt as if I posted what I really thought, those words would come back to haunt me. I was afraid to show my ‘friends’ and my peers my true A.D.D and anxiety-ridden self;  I knew if i did I would be treated differently and, in high school, revealing that part of yourself is considered “social suicide”. So I left it alone and walked away, keeping all of my thoughts to myself tucked away where no one could see them. Now, years later, here I am. 

One may ask why I am choosing now to finally get around to creating the blog I’ve walked away from so many times before. Well, its simple really. I grew up. I have learned that the only person I need to impress is myself, because when you get down to it, all you have is you. 

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