The Writer’s Advantage
I think one of the greatest advantages of writing is the seemingly unending supply of old notebooks, diaries, and journals you steadily accumulate over the years.
It’s somewhat strange at first, flipping through the pages of a long lost friend, and it’s like you’re reading through someone else’s life. You can’t remember the dates at the corners of the papers and you can hardly recall what the writing was about on those particular days, but it’s there. That’s you—your handwriting, your feelings, your thought processes, your barely admissible standard for grammar and spelling. It’s all you.
It’s weird reading the entries out loud, like you can’t seem to recognize the voice speaking to you off the pieces of paper. Your unremarkable past seems exactly that—unremarkable. With a day flipping by as fast as the turn of a page, you find yourself jumping from chapter to chapter in your life, and you start to hear yourself say, “Wow, how stupid was I?”; or, “I can’t believe I did that!”; or, “Lesson learned.”
And that’s when you realize it. You’ve grown. You’ve changed. You’re this better version of yourself, like you just received the universe’s latest version of “You 2.0”. The progress is there, you can trace it with your fingertips. The mistakes you’ve learned from, the promises you’ve made to yourself, the feelings you swore to the highest heavens you’d never surrender to again. The evidence is undeniable.
I think the best part is that these written relics are all around you, neatly tucked away into empty dressers, or hidden underneath your bed, or lost in the caves and canyons of your closet. Like most days, you just carelessly seem to misplace them.
But once again, here’s the best part:
You sleep surrounded by your favorite memories, the best days of your life, your most colorful and vibrant dreams.
Your worst mistakes and most guilt-laden feelings are locked away on the highest shelf of your closet, doomed to never again see the light of day.
You casually undress in front of your most shameful and embarrassing moments, naked in front of a past you couldn’t bear to face again.
Your long lost friends and the people you miss all silently greet you as you walk through your bedroom door.
You wake up every morning next to the pages of a love-long-gone, next to the bindings of the girl-that-got-away.
This is the greatest advantage to being a writer. With all these old notebooks and diaries and journals, your past is literally littered all around you, waiting to be shifted and sorted into an essay, a story, a lesson, a character, a plotline, a scenario. Your memories wait to be relived through once again, recreated not for you the writer, but for your readers.
So if you write, then you already know this advantage, and all I can tell you is don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. And if you don’t write, then why wait any longer? Days slip past you faster than you know it. With writing, at least you’ll have some way to catch them.