Go ahead! Write your life. 

Writing your life means first living your life in the best way you can given ALL circumstances, good and bad. It means writing the memories, energy, and outcomes of not only what you have done for yourself and other earthlings, but also what you share mutually and receive from others in mind, body, and soul. It means overthinking, and sometimes to save yourself, under-thinking and just taking it all in by osmosis on this great planet called earth. 

There isn't much an earthing can do that means as much as sitting in front of a monitor and pecking away or opening the cover of a journal and using a pen to put the words together to express what is going on with herself...what makes her laugh, smile, cry, or keeps him up at night until he writes it down. Writing your life means putting your business out into the universe as it exists on paper without really putting your business out into the universe for other people to judge. Writing your life the right way means being consistent, taking time every day or as often as a person can afford a few minutes, and not lying to one's self. It means you have to put into words on a blank page how you are doing, what happened to and around you in the universe, what you did or did not take the chance to do, and how all of that made you or someone you care about feel.  It means being as honest as you will ever be with your own self. 

I haven't always written my life right or written at all, but when I have it has meant more than I could have imagined when I look back on it. The way I've written my life comes down to this. At the age of 11 and a half or 12, I got my first diary. I can't remember whether it was a gift or whether I asked one of my parents to buy it for me, but I found this thing, a book with empty pages that I was aware that other people filled up with words--not a vocabulary list, but words that represented secrets, emotion, and soul. My diary was either pink or red with a gold foil border on the front cover. I remember it came with a little gold lock that I soon found out could be unlocked by using a bobby pin or paper clip--after I lost the two keys that came with it. 

As a preteen, I knew that one of the subjects people wrote about extensively was love. So, I started off writing about the things, experiences, and people I loved too. In the beginning I wrote poetry, penned what the cute boy at church said to me that made me feel cute, noticed, and giddy. 

After filling up this first diary, I vaguely remember buying another one. I had convinced myself that everything I wrote was important (at least to me), and I didn't really know why, but I felt I would know why these simple words were important when I became an adult. 

At some point after I filled the second diary, I started buying spiral notebooks. I had so much to say to write my life and everything related to emotions I wanted to either remember or for some reason get off of my chest and try to forget. Living in the murder capital of the United States at the time had me inclined to believe that my life, like anyone else randomly walking down the streets of East St. Louis minding their own business could be ended. In other words, dying young wasn't odd or unusual where I grew up. As early as I can think back, I was well aware that caskets came in all sizes. So, writing for me became closely associated with life and death and recording the awesomeness and ugliness of living.