I have no idea how to write a blog. I keep having this idea that I’ll start one; it’ll be a ton of fun; I’ll have so many good ideas that I write once a week; and then after a year, maybe less, someone will really notice me and ask if they can write a book about me or something. I’ll tell you what: my life is not Julie and Julia.
So I write fiction instead. That’s more manageable, or so they say. No audience waiting for me, no rules of being polite. Anyways, here I am revising an old short story I wrote my senior year of high school, and I have no idea how I even wrote it. Really though, I remember having the idea, I remember writing it in my notebook when I was supposed to be listening to my physics professor, but I don’t remember what it said. Now that I have the words in front of me, I don’t know how I came up with something better written than most of my work now is. As I’m reading it, I realise how amazing humans are. We can think and create and believe in so much.
I was trying to relate all of this to my boyfriend, and like the giddy little kid that I am when I talk about things that I like, I told him that despite being frustrated about not remembering how or why I wrote this story, that was okay. My life is so weird and I don’t even understand it. Sometimes it’s really scary, and sometimes I hate it, and sometimes really amazing things happen and I don’t know why, but they feel nice and I like remembering those times.
I guess Hans Christian Andersen was right. “The whole world is a series of miracles, but we’re so used to them that we call them ordinary things.” But he forgot one thing: the beauty of humans is that we have the ability to notice the difference between miracles and ordinary things when we open our eyes to them.