So I know I'm on a digital detox while I restore my vitality.
And - one of the ways I process myself and my life is through my writing. I have always been a writer. I'm convinced that the reason I won the academic scholarship to our prestigious private school above all the other "smart" kids was the stories I wrote.
When I was little I used to carry around a little lunchbox sort of thing. With up to 5 books in it at a time. I love to read. I love stories + storytelling. I love being transported to other lands through language + imagination.
I have journaled since my early 20s. The same time I discovered spirituality + guided visualisation + life beyond the norm.
And thus, in my 30s, via the influence of a few brave souls before me, I stared sharing my "journaling" online.
I know more than 10 years on its all very common these days. And even a bit out of fashion. (Oh god, here comes another earnest soul full of FEELINGS). But it's part of who I am. As my mum reminded me just last night, I'm a great writer. Simple as that. (Thanks mum).
So why deny myself one of the best channels I have to making sense of myself + my world.
The intention here is to transport my words over to Substack. Something I attempted once before but was still way too addicted to red dots at the time to really make it stick.
But I was looking for a piece today. Something I wrote a few years ago about surrendering to a childless life that I wanted to share with a friend going through similar things. And for the life of me I cannot find it. So I am reinspired to house my words in a more deliberate place.
And even though the socials have become less noble truths and more Las Vagas casino I will continue to plants my words here too while I build my house of words over (here!) on Substack.
So, I guess what I'm saying, in a round about way, is that I'm a writer. And I use words to weave meaning + unravel knots + paint worlds. For myself. And anyone else who chooses to join me.
X Chloe
