The Excitement of a Blank Page


The Excitement of a Blank Page

Sometimes I open the WordPress editor and just look at it. I like how white it is, I like how empty it is. I can’t wait to fill it with words, I can’t wait to start reflecting.

A text editor is my white sheet of paper. It is the white sheet of paper of the 21st century. I don’t remember the last time I wrote by hand, which is nothing but sad, but I vividly remember nights spent listening to jazz or classical music, writing poems and posting them on Tumblr. An eighteen year-old girl who had lots of dreams and lots of time, and because of that, wrote so much poetry.

The excitement of a blank page is the same excitement of a Sunday afternoon. Where are we going? What are we going to do? It’s the same excitement as opening a book, going to the movies or starting to cook a new recipe. It’s the excitement of going on a journey. Starting and finishing it. As I think and type, words translate what isn’t said. I don’t need to speak to get to a conclusion, I don’t need to make a sound to listen to myself. I just need to type.

The journey is mine

The minutes, or hours, spent writing were minutes I wasn’t here sitting in this sofa. I traveled somewhere where I could run free and choose. Where am I going? What am I going to do? I may have chosen to think about the future, reflect on the past, or describe the present. I may have been nostalgic, or offered a solution or perspective about something of importance.

My thoughts will then become immortalized, either on lost files in my computer, or on a blog somewhere on the web. My grandchildren can read their grandmother’s words one day. People who have never heard of me may bump into my articles. Fifty years from now. However, regardless of how many read what I write — or how many do not — I keep writing and posting. Because the journey is mine in the first place.