Member-only story
How to Check Your Ego at the Door
The art of writing purely from the heart.
Yesterday, I was rooting through the overcrowded trunk of my car when I came upon a treasure.
My car contains a small time capsule of my life, various memories buried within its rarely-cleaned confines.
I do not kid when I say that the trunk was overcrowded — it contained, among other things:
a box full of books,
a comforter,
a leather trench coat,
a rain jacket,
an old and overused tent,
a sleeping bag,
a laminated First Aid infographic,
a knitted poncho,
a bag of blue Solo cups,
a bottle of champagne,
a spilled container of coolant,
a small and dull axe,
and a signed copy of American Gods.
Buried beneath the rubble, I found a box labeled “My Most Treasured Possessions”.
It contained every notebook and diary I have ever kept, excepting one that I gave to an ex-boyfriend (who subsequently lost it, the jerk).
It’s always a ride, paging through my old work, rereading my old dreams and watching my handwriting change over the progression of the years (and the gradual decline of my mental health).
The biggest thing that always strikes me when I go through the old stuff: almost everything I’ve written is unfinished.
