Our relationships with others help define who we are and how we live our lives. Are we compassionate? Are we envious? Are we lovable? Are we lonely? Family or friend. Platonic or romantic. Long or short. There are countless combinations of the types of relationships that we can have in our lives.

 

I write to maintain mine.

 

Sending a birthday card to my aunt who lives in the Dominican Republic, writing a letter to my mom&dad when I’m at summer camp, or writing a text message to my sister who moved to North Carolina. I can communicate with those who matter most even though they are 1,559 miles away.

 

It’s not enough to make these connections. What’s the point if we cannot remember the intimate details of our encounters with those we love?

 

I write to remember them.

 

The girl who paid for my coffee as a random act of kindness. Celebrating my birthday. Going on vacation with my family. Having a movie night with my best friends. The first time my boyfriend told me he loved me. Getting a puppy. My first job. Getting my license. The last thing I said to my grandpa before he took his final breath. My first kiss. The day I moved away to college. The taste of a home-cooked meal. The events that led me to find my passion in life. Millions of memories, big and small, that I never want to forget, but my brain does not have the capacity to hold on to. When I’m 40 years old and have kids of my own I want to be able to tell them what I was doing on January 14th, 2018.

 

Throughout my life, my connections with others made me happy, but that was never enough. I learned that true happiness comes from within. You make yourself happy. Others only make you happier.

 

Everyone has a best friend. A best friend loves you no matter what. A best friend gives you advice when you need it. A best friend helps you sort through all the intricate thoughts running through your brain. A best friend is there to pick you up at the end of a bad day.

 

I write to foster this type of friendship between my body and my mind.

 

All day long my mind and body work tirelessly. At the end of a long day I come home to journal. I write down the good, the bad, the funny, the sad, and everything in between. As the words flow from my mind, through my fingertips, to the page, my thoughts are plucked from my brain, like fresh fruit from a garden. Some are sweet, some are sour. My overworked brain thanks me. Once the thoughts are on the page, they cannot race through my head any longer. I lay my head down on the pillow and doze off soundly, ready to start all over in the morning.

 

My ritual creates a sense of stability in my mind. My mind trusts me. It knows what’s coming. Because I have laid this foundation, I can now build upon it. I can build the life that I want to live. What graduate school will I attend? What job will I get? How many kids do I want to have?

 

I write to find the passions that will drive these future decisions.

 

My senior year of high school was the worst year of my life. My best friend died unexpectedly in a car accident, I was sexually assaulted, my cousin committed suicide, and my grandpa died of cancer all in a matter of six months. I was at a loss for words. I used to be the loudest person in the room, and suddenly I couldn’t hold a conversation. I was numb, and people were telling me how I should feel, or how I should react. The only constant in my life was a pen and a pad of paper. It was sitting on my nightstand. I wrote and wrote and wrote, sometimes for hours. By the time I finished, I couldn’t feel my fingers, but I could feel again. I could feel sad, and angry, and betrayed. I understood my emotions, and now I could express them. I couldn’t change the experiences I went through, but I could do something about it. I raised money for a memorial scholarship fund, I became a volunteer at a women’s shelter, I started a mental health awareness club, I was a team leader for Relay for Life. I channeled my emotions into bettering my community, and I was able to do this by writing about it first.

 

I write to connect. To others. To myself.