The Best Way To Know Life Is To Love Many Things

The best way to know life is to love many things

Vincent van Gogh

Jungkook's growth over the years ♡ I feel so honored to have the opportunity to watch him grow into this amazing person and such a talented artist. 970901 — Happy Birthday Jeon Jungkook!

Reminder

There will never be a perfect time to write.

Never a perfect opportunity.

Never a perfect setting or ambience.

Never a perfect sentiment or mood.

You could wait, hopeful, for perfection to arrive and bless you, but you could be waiting your entire life. Think of all the half-written stories, half-developed characters that will be buried in your grave alongside you, just because you chose not to make the best of an imperfect circumstance.

Stop waiting.

Start. Now. Just write. Horribly, sloppily, tangentially.

Write for yourself. Write for someone in particular. Write for an imaginary, idealized audience. Write to commemorate a phase of your life, a friendship that's long since wilted, a parted loved one. Write for the beauty in life, the shimmering snail trails, the rustle of a falcon's feathers while in flight, the crescent moon.

Write for everything. Write for nothing. Write for no one. Write for the madness, for the hell of it. Write just because.

Just write.

Done is better than perfect, as they say.

Some details in life need a voice, however shaky and imperfect. Give these things a voice.

-penned by j. m. medna (2024)

Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Ann Davidow-Goodman, featured in The Letters Of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956

[Text ID: I know I’ll always think of you with something like hurt and nostalgia―and a great deal of love.]

On nights after a 12-hour shift I weigh whether I should commit to writing for a minimum of an hour before retiring to well-deserved rest or offering myself some grace and skipping the writing until I'm not so burnt out.

The right choice never seems clear, and so I toggle between the two choices during the time-span I could have used for writing.

Then it all feels like a waste.

-penned by j. m. medna (2024)

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