Truly Happy

Via Ffffound.



New-Segment-Time at The Lucky Stone...

"Truly Happy" is something that I started doing to practice writing in college, and now I'm bringing it back with a whole new spin.

Here's how it works: As they come to me, I make a running list of things that make me truly happy. I write a sentence, a few lines, or a short paragraph about each one and then I share them with all of you. The twist is that I am going to use these things to practice my newly budding (ok, non-existent) photography skills with our new camera (I might use an old or borrowed photo, occasionally).

Sound alright?

(You said, yes... right?)

Here's the first piece I wrote as a part of this practice. It is really more of a stream-of-consciousness that I found in an old journal, and it made sense to post a few of the past Truly-Happies before I start up with the new ones. (Eeek! I'm a little nervous...)

Dated January 12, 2004 - The Pen in my Hand

The practice of writing is a beautiful thing that allows and encourages us to enhance the story of life. It is a priveledge and a blessing that I had underestimated until I began to explore the connection between the pen and the hand. As I learn more about their relationship, I feel compelled to examine my background and the many writers who have preceeded me. The love of the written word is embedded in my genes, or perhaps, more appropriately, it flows through my veins.

This year, I have come upon an incredible realization: The enthusiasm and passion that have always been an important part of who I am now have a purpose and a home. The shelter, a blank page. The inhabitant, my thoughts. Attention and care are given to the long-neglected ideas that flow from my mind onto the paper.

They are somewhat reluctant, but arrive relieved; my words remind me of the first born who ran home in the story of the Prodigal Son. Their hesitance stems from lack of familiarity. The relief is a feeling that I embrace and cherish.

I have lived much of my life not quite knowing where to put my dreams, my stories, my whispers of thoughts and ideas. There are years and years of them built up inside of me, and now that they finally have a way out, I am overwhelmed with the information that my hand is inscribing with this pen.

A reliable pen is a very good thing. Mine recently seems to be attached to my hand. After all, you never know when one of these writing frenzies will strike. During class seems to be his favorite time of arrival, but he really does like to surprise me. I continue to be amazed by the amount that I learn about myself in these uncontrollable moments. How much information can one possibly have stored up in their hand? Do other writers experience this same sensation? If so, does that make me a writer?

My head insists on knowing these answers, but I tell her she'll just have to ask my hand the next time they meet. Either way, learning to love the pen in my hand has flung open the gates of my mind, and I delight in the fact that I'll never be the same again.