Pen, Paper, and Process

Yesterday morning while waiting for a workshop to begin on Counseling Supervision from an Existential Perspective, I picked up my pen and began writing in my journal. I hadn't attended any kind of counseling workshop during the past year and a half, and I was feeling a little unsettled about being there and returning to a world that I had left behind. The room was freezing; there were depressing overhead lights; I was hungry, and there was a tightness in my stomach that would not go away. However, when I picked up the pen and started to write it felt like I had tapped into some sort of salvation. I needed the thoughts and feelings to come out of me and land on the page. It gave me comfort, the comfort that I have not been turning to this past month, but it was still there waiting for me to pick up my pen and return to myself.

For much of the day after leaving the workshop, I felt disoriented, as if I was disconnected from people and life. Later in the day I remembered that I felt the same way after my mother's death. The anniversary of my mother's death was the day before. I was right back in the disconnected feeling, the whole world had turned upside down.

Last night I gave a blogging class at the Open Mind Center. Two dynamic and insightful women attended my class, and as usually happens when I give a class at OMC I felt that I was given a gift by the participants presence there. Being with them brought me back to reality. We had insightful and lively discussions, and in the end we returned to the message that writing has the ability to connect us to our selves on a deeper level and to give back to the world around us even if only one person is reading what we have written.

Today I feel encouraged at the prospect of giving more classes and the hope that more people will come to value the process of journaling and maintaining a blog. Mostly, I feel a sense of relief to find that pen, paper, and process are still waiting for me despite my neglect and inattention.