Becoming Undone #1

Self-Reflection, Becoming Undone is a series of Journal entries to help with my creative process. Where I can write with expression and find what gives me inspiration.

I went up Big Cottonwood Canyon and discovered a really amazing sitting/studying/self-reflection spot.  You can hear the wind blow through the tops of the pines and the leaves from the middle of fall are scattered across the ground.  There's a river close by and as it moves rapidly across the rocks it makes the most calming noise.  I'm sitting here perched on my make shift seat of rock's, dirt and leaves, contemplating how I can better my studies and better my creative writing, something to inspire deep purposeful thought rather than just the mundane everyday nothingness that I seem to be slipping into.  I begin to wonder why I haven't been doing this all my life...

The mountains are the only place that I feel safe, confident and secure.  I want to find myself.  As of late I tend to get caught tearing up, when I sleep, wake, as I sit here writing.  I don't know what is wrong with me, but I may be finding a form of therapy within the deep trenches of the vast mountains that stand strong and unyielding as people come and go.  Without a second thought toward what damage it may do to their surroundings.  Not unlike the majority of what I feel my life has summed up to; at the ripe age of 24 still so young but feeling so old.  It's time to have children and start my career, but is it a career that will feed this monster of dread and gloom growing inside of me or will it be one to help facilitate the change that I am so desperately trying to grasp at.  Always fighting an inner battle between the different sides of myself;  Anger, grief, sadness, carefree, hopeful, excitement... How do I balance all of these emotions, when emotions were always something to force down for fear of making someone else uncomfortable.

Did I choose a path in life that has pushed back the creativity inside of me, and over time I have just expected/assumed/told everyone that I am not creative in an attempt to appear less vulnerable.  Vulnerability was something engraved in me as a sign of weakness, but could forcing my emotions down in the long run have caused me to become more vulnerable instead.  Now that I am an adult and don't know how to express myself.. or is even that last sentence just another wall I put up?

What caused me to stop writing to begin with?

Should I have chosen another career choice, or will I find the outlet them I am searching for?

Question's to gnaw on to rediscover myself.

Author's Note

Any sort of critique is helpful, I am in a crucial part in my life where going back to college for a English degree is something that i am considering quite extensively.