Letter #52 - When You Feel Too Much

To the reader in you,

So I jumped straight from finishing a book to writing this. Because I realised something strange that I hadn’t ever noticed before. I’ve written about my love of books and stories and the hopefulness of it all, but today I realised there’s something else in the mix. The right story at the right time can fix a lot. 

But first, some context. I’m a pro when it comes to compartmentalising. Everything has its box and its time and its place. You put the feelings away and if they’re important, you deal with them and then go on your merry way. That’s what I do, at least. But I was reading today and I started to feel, not sad, but sort of wistful. There wasn’t really anything that I was thinking of or anything that triggered it. Or so I thought.

It was the book I was reading. It was the story and the experiences of the characters, that led me back into my head and sifting through all those locked boxes that exist there. Until I found the one that made me feel what I was feeling. And so here I am, in this weird mood, that hasn’t been triggered by the present, but by a past moment, long forgotten but never dealt with.

It made me think, maybe a little too much, but it’s what I needed. Fiction is important, especially to people like me, who hold things a little too tightly and who try to bounce back a little too quickly. Because in those moments of reading someone else’s story, we catch a glimpse of ourselves that we get to address in the privacy of our own head alongside our imagination and the two can meld together in that weird way that dreams do. When you’re asleep but you know you’re dreaming but then the dream just gets strange and trippy. 

We can address it for as long or as little as we like and at the end of the day, no one but us has changed and that makes it all feel slightly less big. I don’t even know if any of this makes sense to anyone outside myself. But just incase it does, here I am, saying I get it and if the only way you can dwell on your own life is after reading about someone else’s, then do it! 

I think that’s a big part of why I started writing stories. To make sense of the things I was feeling when I was feeling them. And then when I would stop writing, too busy with life, I’d find myself floundering, my head barely above water, because I wasn’t letting it out. And usually if I was too busy to write, then I was too busy to read! And that’s a vicious cycle. 

So I guess my realisation isn’t too earth-shattering, but finding that thing that lets you out of the confines of your head is always a good thing and it should be cherished for what it is. Especially if you’re private with your thoughts and feeling and try to lock them away. We all need something that saves us from imploding and for me, that’s words on a page. 

What saves you from that? What is the one thing that you can always fall back on to help you think about your life and release you from the stresses that you keep hidden away from everyone else? I’d love to know. It feeds the inquisitive (nosy) people-watcher in me!

Until next time, be inspired...

Love, Z