Somewhere I lost me.

I am not quite sure why I stopped writing. Or even when. Yes, yes, I am writing now. And trust me, blogging is very cathartic. I have really been enjoying the expression and the release and the feeling of accomplishing something when I write and publish a post. But this is different.

I used to write poetry. I used to write song lyrics. I have no idea why I stopped. I know I was still writing in 7th grade. I had Mrs. Edna Golden for English. We didn’t have English grammar lessons in her class. We had writing lessons. In those lessons, not only did we learn grammar, because you got HUGE red marks for incorrect grammar, but we learned about life. We learned how to put ourselves on paper. We learned how to write.

I know that I wrote papers in high school. Lots of papers. But thinking back, I don’t really remember writing for me in high school. I don’t remember putting myself into words. In college, whew…how many papers did I write there? At least one for every quarter I was in school. But those were factual and researched based.

I am a really good factual, researched-based paper writer. Thank you, Mrs. Angene Gibbs. As an undergrad, I once took a class as an independent study and somehow convinced the professor to base my entire grade on one paper. I had to read the five books that he was using in his graduate course the next fall and we talked about the content every week for an hour. But my grade was from one paper that I turned in at mid-term. The conversation that night went something like this:

Dr. P: “Is this your rough-draft?”
Me: “No, sir. It’s my final draft.”
Dr. P: “Are you crazy? Your entire grade is based on this one paper and you are turning it in at mid-term as a final draft?”
Me: “Fine, call it is my rough draft.”

The next week when I walked in to discuss the books at hand, he threw the paper at me. When I picked it up, before I looked at the grade, he pointed his finger at me and said “You still have to read the books and have the discussions! I have never been so well played in my life!” He almost smiled. It was an A. Yes, I continued to read the books and discuss them with him. I write a mean research paper. Thank you Mrs. Golden and Mrs. Angene Gibbs.

Several papers and a graduate degree later I have written my share of papers. Factual ones. I have helped several colleagues with their master’s thesis papers and more students with research that I could shake a stick at, as the saying goes.

Last night, however, I was watching some TED talks videos. There are 11 videos in this series, called 11 TED talks for 20 somethings.”  And no, I was not delusional. I KNOW I am a few years above 20 something. 5…or 10…or 20 something more, but I work with high school students, OK? So…well, I don’t feel 47. I feel the same as I did when I was 27. Does that count?

Sarah Kaye Somewhere I lost me blog post from https://propensitytodiscuss.wordpress.com/

Sarah Kaye If I could have a daughter.

Anyway, I found me. Not me in a video of me, but I found that part of me that has been buried away under factual, research-based writing. I found me by watching the video of Sarah Kaye. The title is “If I could have a daughter.” (You MUST watch the video. She is phenomenal!) Sarah reminded me that I once had a voice. I once regularly put myself on paper. I used to write. One of the poems that I wrote is sung in the church where I grew up. My voice. My stories. Me. I used to write.

I lost me somewhere along the way. So today, I will share with you my journey back to putting myself onto paper.

 

Somewhere I lost me. ©2014

Somewhere I lost me.
Once I had a voice.
Once I allowed myself to live loud and free. 

Somewhere I lost me.
The world grew up around me.
The present became the future
And the past was left behind.

I knew who I was once.
But there is a part of me that I let slip away.
I don’t know who I used to be.
I know only who I am now.
But somehow I lost me. 

There were songs in my words.
There were lyrics on my tongue.
My pen was mighty.
It allowed me to think out loud.
It allowed me to relinquish all the hurt.
It allowed me to relish all the love.
Words left my mind, my heart, my soul.
Words fell onto my papers like leaves falling from trees.
And one day the leaves stopped falling.
One day they stopped falling.
Because somehow I lost me.

Season after season has come and gone.
Fall after fall the leaves beckoned me.
But I did not hear.
I did not see.
Somewhere I lost me.
Somehow I lost me.

Now I know that I was once here.
I know that my voice, once loud and true is here.
I have lived without realizing what part of me was gone.
I have searched without knowing which part of me was missing.
But now I have seen.
Somewhere I lost me.
Somehow I lost me.
But I am lost no more. 

Thank you, Mrs. Golden, for teaching me to write. Thank you Sarah Kaye and Project V.O.I.C.E. for bringing writing back to me.

 

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