“You’ve been so much happier the last week. What’s going on?”
Someone very close and dear to me recently observed that my outward happiness had drastically and obviously increased. My first response was to tell them to go fuck themselves because I’ve always been a little ray of sunshine regardless of what they think.
Then I paused and considered their questions with an open mind. Now they mentioned it I guess I had felt happier in the past few days. But why? Had anything significant changed in the past week? What was I doing differently now?
Writing. Writing was making me happy.
The time-frame of my sudden and inextricable happiness coincided exactly with me starting this blog and recommencing my creative writing projects.
I have always enjoyed writing. Back in university whenever we had creative group projects I always managed to retreat to the role of ‘writer’. I clearly remember a video production assignment where I received top marks without ever recording or editing a video. Instead I wrote a killer script with an intricate storyline that engaged and engrossed the audience. We aced the assignment just for the story I wrote let along the awesome video work my team did.
On and off since then I dabbled in writing. I have countless unfinished short stories, plays, musicals, novels, scripts, game ideas, and so on. I enjoyed the creative process on all of these but never made the connection between my happiness and the act of writing. Until now.
Writing is what makes me happy. Even this, a direct and honest dump of my thoughts, brings a smile to my face. Before opening up the writing prompt I felt tired, grumpy, and seriously considered going to bed. But here I am, pouring my thoughts out and thoroughly enjoying it.
Is it good writing? Probably not. But that’s not the point. The point is that I am enjoying it. I finally found something, an activity, that I can enjoy in my spare time.
Writing makes me happy. That’s why I write. Maybe one day something I write will be deemed worthy enough to grace a printing press, be turned in to a hollywood blockbuster, or be performed on dingy stage by c-grade hacks in front of two homeless people. Whatever. Those outcomes don’t matter to me. What matters is that I write.
Writing makes me happy.
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