I wrote A Prayer in 2004. I was a different person, but I wasn’t. There’s immaturity in that writing. That’s natural. As artists, we grow—if we dedicate time to the craft. What was best though. was seeing that I’d grown as a person. I don’t even recognize some of the stories. I get the meaning. I know what I was trying to do. I like the finished product. But I have evolved. My thoughts on love, family, life in general, have all changed for the better. But that passion! And some of the topics I wrote about? Abuse, alcoholism, marriage! I knew more than I thought back then. Not fully, but in parts. Glimpses.
That’s what writing has always been about for me. The glimpses. Little scenes. Blips of feeling. I get so caught up in the day-to-day now, that I forget to write about the blips. I neglect to acknowledge their importance. That’s unfortunate. But now that I’m recognizing it, I can fix it. I can remember them. Document them. Share them. And maybe they will make a difference.
Like this morning.
That younger version of me put down on paper what he thought was important. What was moving. And he was right. Sure, the presentation may not have been refined. One would never suspect he actually studied writing and wrote nearly every day. But he captured moments as best he could, like a kid at the kitchen table drawing his family with big, thick crayons. And today, I found that picture. And it made me smile. And I am inspired.