I have been writing for the past 30 minutes, lost in the content I was creating, when I caught my husband looking at me and smiling. When I asked him what was up, he said that I was glowing and he couldn’t’t look away.

Writing makes me happy. More than speaking, more than drawing, or any other type of expressive or creative medium. Something about the action of typing down and seeing every letter, slowly giving a shape to my thoughts and the subtle nuances of words that carefully depict ideas and Β I find very comforting.

The timing is interesting, because I have been thinking very very hard about the one activity that makes me happiest, and it is and always has been writing; of all genre, in all four languages I speak.

Words make me feel grounded and anchored, and I think I will hold on to them for a little while.


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