Monday, July 8, 2013

My Emersonian Weekend

I had a splendid 4th of July holiday break. I spent it vacationing right by campus. Which felt really weird now that I no longer will be going back there for school. I felt sad and out-of-place, like I should be going back to work at the Bookstore the next day or writing for the school paper right now. But alas, that feeling fleeted away.

By day 2 in town and observing the guys on campus I didn't wish I could still be there to go out with them. We are in totally different phases of life now, and they all look like baby-faces (even if they are my age or older). And I just got the sense that it wasn't where I am supposed to be anymore.

Anyway, I made a challenge to myself to escape to nature. I hiked, I swam, I ran through the canyon, I rolled down the hill in the park, it was just what the doctor prescribed (Not an actual doctor or therapist. The, uh, love doctor?).

I walked in the middle of the trail where I had run three previous half-marathons and soaked in all the sounds and smells: the birds tweeting up in the tall trees, the flowing of the stream, the steady zoom of cars passing by on the freeway off in the distance, the sound of my feet, the sound of other runners' feet. I really stink at mindfulness so this was an excellent place to do so.

I also challenged myself not to write anything. No Facebook posts, no blog posts, no tweets, no Instagram pictures. I was burned out from writing at work, so I decided if I resisted the urges, I would go so crazy that I would have to come back and write with a vengeance again.

As demonstrated with this blog post here, I think it was quite successful. And insightful.

I realized I am a writer. I never consider myself one just because I always see room for improvement, and my high school English teacher majorly humbled me from any feasible way of believing I could be a writer. Nevertheless, here I am. Writing. There you go. 

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