Don't read this post if it's just another distraction

I used to hold a quiet (or not so quiet) contempt for TV junkies. I used to watch people numb out in front of the tube and wonder where their imagination went. I used to be bored with nothing left to distract me, so I'd leave the scene and enter my own creative dream-space.

There, I used to write poems on my father's old typewriter. I used to write stories with sharpie marker inside my closet door for the next dear soul who'd inhabit my room. I used to stare blankly out the window watching birds in the bushes, drool slipping from the side of my mouth. I used to lay on the carpet for so long that I'd get marks on my legs as I listened to mix CD's from old boyfriends. I used to try on every piece of clothing I owned, then leave the mess foot deep on the floor. I used to call my neighbor, Seth, to meet me on the edge of the driveway where we'd star gaze & talk about life. I used to go to the coffee house with nothing but my journal & my curiosity, and leave with 3 new friends. I used to always look at someone when they talked to me. I used to fill my open spaces with wonder, with mischief, with flirtation, with disbelief.

I used to have nothing to multitask with. I used to have no easy access to thousands of people's ideas or photographs or businesses or dreams, all with the touch of a finger.

I used to see my open spaces.

There's a way that I've become one of those people I disdain--numbed out in front of the screen--finger swooshing one more time to see if anyone cares that I exist.

There's a way that my interaction with today's technology has left me feeling less alive, more zombie-like, emptier.

There's a way that I've forgotten how to see the open spaces, let alone, sit in them.

There's a way that I wonder where my imagination has gone, and if I can distance myself enough from the distractions to ever get it back.

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I just read this to Brian, who said to me, "who cares if we exist to other people... what matters is that we exist to OURSELVES"

It's time I get back to myself. It's ironic, considering our trip and out distance from so many people. But it makes sense; this is a beautiful, isolating, spiritual, intense journey, and sometimes it's hard to know if there's anything left to call my own or if that even matters at all.

Sometimes all I long for is to know, at least, that someone out there sees me. But true seeing can't be measured with a thumbs up, retweet or heart.

It's time to see myself, in all my mysterious sorrow and wonder and excitement. It's time to sign off and rediscover where my imagination has gone... It's time to follow where it needs to take me.