candor

Spell it Out

Samantha Gratton

I write. You can’t deny it. Whether you think it’s good or bad is not the point. Regardless, I write. I write when I’m thinking through something or learning new lessons or fighting my fears or fleeing from life’s many mysteries. I write to sort through my thoughts and sometimes even to share them with you. It’s an expression and an art form, yet it also remains one of life’s simplest tasks. You don’t need to be a published author to write a to-do list. Nor a famous blogger to type out your daily activities. There’s something I love about that. And something about it that I detest.

I love writing. There’s so many things I could say about it yet still barely scratch the surface. That’s just it. How do you express what can’t be put to words? How to describe the clarity of colors? Or how to go on about the desperate desires of the heart set to song? Sometimes I wish my form of expression wasn’t something also found on a mere post-it note at work. But, oh how I love post-it notes. I love using a pen to jot something down as it emerges from a flitting idea into a coherent thought. The moment you escape the present and get lost in a realm of possibilities.

Writing makes you pause. You have to consider the appropriate word, and even reconsider it, before moving to the next. What is it? How to organize the countless thoughts that are running through your head? Which one takes precedent? Scream and shout. Whisper and murmur. It all looks the same on paper.

I think I could write an entire book about writing without really saying anything at all. Consider this my attempt at abstract art—a mess of colors that can only be truly understood by its creator, if even so. 

Traveling with Candor

Samantha Gratton

To sum up what traveling means to me is near impossible. It’s inspiring and wonderful and challenging and ridiculous and special and ordinary and vital all in one breath. Every time I go somewhere it makes me feel that much more alive. While it’s thrilling and sometimes adventurous, it also brings a negative side that’s just as much of a reminder of being alive.

The month I spent in China in college was the first traveling experience I remember that brought me to tears. I loved so many parts of my trip but the other half of the time I felt such a bitter loneliness and deep void that I couldn’t escape. Everything that was wrong with society and myself and my future was staring me in the face. I was trapped under this burden of angst and misery amongst the beauties and excitement of China. While I can’t even remember all that I was struggling with at the time, it shaped me. It certainly wasn’t the first thing I mentioned about my trip, if it was mentioned at all, but it was just as valuable of an experience.

The past few days we had the pleasure of spending time visiting with relatives and ringing in the new year in Music City. While it was wonderful to see everyone and experience our first snowfall this winter, it brought on some moments of pain. Facing insecurities and an unknown future isn’t exactly the kind of conversation you toss in between karaoke numbers. This wasn’t the trip that left us inspired by every opportunity or eager for more. It had touches of anxiety and longing instead. Not exactly the trip we planned, but perhaps the trip we needed. 

When you find a routine, you can sometimes shelf those fears and failures while you go on with regular daily life. You forget the past if you can and ignore the impending future. But as soon as you leave that routine and surrender yourself to a wide open sky and a long car ride through the mountains, there’s no telling what your inner thoughts will unravel and unveil.

While at times arduous and other times jovial, I was grateful for the time of travel. It forced growth and contemplation, insight and creativity—and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Travel brings out all the elements, whether you’re ready or not.