Pain equals Inspiration.
My first inspiration to write came in Middle school. A young girl died from a tragic train accident when I was 11 years old. I wouldn’t say I was particularly close to the girl. We had a gymnastics class together and went to the same school. She was a grade younger than me so we only really played together in the gymnastics class.
The news came over the intercom, and the stories trickled in. Young minds grasping and spilling the horrid details in animated tales.
There was a tree in my backyard I would climb to sit and daydream. I thought no one would find me there. I gathered some paper and a pen, and climbed the tree later that week. I don’t remember what I wrote, but I remember not being able to express what I was feeling to anyone. I didn’t want to. I owned the hurt and I didn’t want anyone else to see it. I also didn’t know the appropriate reaction I should have since I wasn’t close to the girl.
I tied my letter to the tree branch as high as I could climb that day, and I sat on my stoop and talked to her. The days and weeks went by and I continued to climb the tree, open my letter, rereading it and talking to her. Until one day I climbed and didn’t see the letter. The ribbon flapped in the wind loosely. The end of it empty and lonely. The rain and elements took the letter along with my interest to write.
With that being said. The pain was the first emotion to cause the inspiration to write. To focus the anxiety into a story and words.
Joy also creates inspiration, but a different type. It’s not as intense and isn’t as moving in some ways. That’s for a different day.
I do not enjoy the pain. I do not wish for it or wait for it. It comes and goes and leaves me with something I didn’t have without it.
Pain is not weakness leaving the body, but strength collecting in the little crevices it creates. Each pain collected creates a new link to my story.