Today I Appreciate You

Yearly, I planned to keep some sort of journal. Fancy notebooks with floral print covers and neat, lined pages remain the only partially-filled testaments to my attempts at “practicing” writing and attempting to be a “good writer.” Every “how to be a writer” book I read told me that the best writers keep journals, so that’s what I tried to do: keep a journal.

I sparingly wrote in those journals, however, because I lacked meaningful purpose for writing in them. I only occasionally wrote because I thought that’s what you were supposed to do if you had any love of language. Alas, the entries fell into the trap of “I hate mom,” “I hate dad,” and “I hate mom AND dad” and, thus, became my platform for complaining rather than for observation. That’s not to say that complaining doesn’t have its place in literature, but it shouldn’t be the predominant emotion driving one’s work.

As Robert Root writes in The Nonfictionist’s Guide, a writer needs “a sense of commitment to the subject matter, a sense of involvement that is not simply a desire to communicate something but is instead – or in addition – a willingness to discover and accommodate whatever emerges from the writing” (26). Basically, if you have a goal in mind and you want to communicate, go and do it, but expect to learn something from the process, too.

So, this project is really twofold: I expect to not only learn a little about my life experiences by reflecting upon them in an optimistic way, but also to discover something about what it means to be appreciate what you have and through this appreciation, to become a happier, fuller, healthier person.

Today, then, I appreciate you, whoever you are, reading this beginning. You are probably among only a few who have either a.) been referred here by me, b.) stumbled upon this by accident or c.) are my family (who fall under the subcategory of a., but whatever). Happiness can only be achieved with the help of others. It’s impossible to be a complete lonely misanthrope, sulking through life incapable of finding love and appreciation from others. After all, many write to be immortal; words transcend life and being.

So, why do you need to be involved in this? Well, writing for me is a wholly beneficial process and I could easily keep this tucked away in a hidden folder, but I’m only compelled – really compelled – to write this if I know someone out there cares or is affected by anything here. That’s cliché (and, boy, do I hate that it’s cliché), but clichés exist because they are so firmly based in truth. I write this, these observations, these thoughts, these desires to share, because I wish to stir something in you. It doesn’t really matter what.

After all, it’s impossible to communicate until you discover something you need to communicate. For me, I need to communicate what brings me levity, what brings me hope, and what brings me inspiration because, without that reflection and without that understanding, it’s impossible to really appreciate and love what’s open and available in the world.