Words are soothing to me. They make me pause to think. They give me goosebumps. They teach me important lessons like civility, optimism, and grace.
I love to share words, to speak them and write them down, to repeat them over and over till they live on my tongue and in my soul.
It’s more than the writer in me, or the reader in me. Words are in the very essence of me.
I seek them out, actively searching for that perfect sentence.
I strive to string them together beautifully, flawlessly, effortlessly.
I surround myself with words: painted wooden signs, quotes jotted down on post-it notes, doodles in the margins of books.
Words give me power. They can be anchors, or buoys, or vessels. They can be wielded as weapons, or wrought with grief. They can be witty and pointed, or placid and dull.
Words are loneliness, and love. They are epic, and trivial. Words are limiting. Words are freeing. They are weird and awkward, or subtle and shifting.
Words are romantic. Give me a bouquet of words–well-spoken, meaningful, lovely words–over a handful of flowers any day.
Words are more to me than ink on a page. And that is why, when I find myself on the precipice of something big–a life changing event, a major decision, a situation I know will test me–I turn to words for comfort and guidance.
I will write them down, post them in visible places, and horde them, knowing those words will give me the hope, courage, strength, and patience I need when the road gets harder to pass.
The ink will stay as long as I need it to, until I’ve learned the lesson. Then I will wipe it away and replace it with new ink, and different words, surrounding myself with their beauty and wisdom.
I can relish in the knowledge that they are there for me, to serve as a reminder that the path I’ve chosen, while not easy, will be worth the effort of the journey in the long run.