There’s just something about picking up my laptop or pen and paper and letting my deepest feelings come to complete thought. For most, writing isn’t really a favorite pastime. Writing to some has been directly correlated with homework, and who the hell likes homework? Not me, but I sure as hell like writing.

Practicing the most basic form of communication, I choose to write. I sit quietly thinking about my day or the world around me and I bring to life my exact feelings. Some days I feel happy, some days I may feel tired, or even some days I feel sad. No matter how I am feeling, writing has become an important part of my life. I would even suggest that writing saved my life.

When you feel like a soda bottle getting ready to explode because you have no one to turn to, or wish to put your problems on everyone else, these are the times your writing is most pure. It is the words that really come to your mind, but you know you can’t actually say them. It is the words that you want to bring to life, but word vomit badly, and, well, word vomit.

Writing takes patience. The kind of patience you find within yourself to sit and reflect and create a story to read aloud to your peers, or maybe an empty bedroom. Letters come to life, painting the picture in someone’s mind, about maybe a day in your mind. The beautiful thing about writing is everyone has their own sense of authenticity. We can paint pictures and copies of pictures any day. However, writing and your choice of words create an authentic picture of who you are.

Writing is the cheapest form of therapy this good ol' economy can buy. It’s free, it’s easy, and it eliminates the constant train of thought and emotion that is occurring in your brain. Take some time for yourself, and just jot down how your day went. Tell a story that is only between you, the keyboard, or maybe a gel pen. These moments aren’t expensive; in fact, they are priceless. Learning to love the way you think about life on paper may even make you love your life a little bit more.

One day I sat down and brought to life the world around me. I wrote down how I felt, what I could smell, and what I would be doing later that day. Suddenly, I felt relieved. I felt as if I had cleared my mind in a way that many refuse to do anymore. Granted, I do not own a journal. I too understand that this world can become busy and we hardly have time to breathe. But for one moment, if you can sit and reflect, do it.

If I could give the world one gift, I wish to give the gift of writing. On my best days, and even worst, I somehow always find my way back to my note pad. Writing has become a part of me, and one day I hope I can write a beautiful American novel…