The burden of joy.

I think I'm a better writer when I'm sitting in a little bit of angst. When something gets under my skin the way to get it out is to write it out.

It's not always true, but I'm noticing a pattern. In fiction and in journaling when things are well I'm like "The sun is shining. October is beautiful. Life is great!" which there's nothing wrong with. I like being happy! But I just don't churn out words the same way.

When I'm processing some minor or large hurt I think my writing develops a bit of crunch to it that allows me to delve a little deeper into my soul.

And that isn't to say that hard things are deeper than happier things, but they do seem to be easier to write about.

Random thought: are hard things more vulnerable than happy things? Or are the really, truly happy things so locked up behind my vulnerability barrier that they never get written about?

It can definitely be hard to write or talk about a lovely hope, for fear of jinxing it, or someone bursting that bubble.

So maybe the bestest, truest happies are far more vulnerable than the sads. I don't know.

Today I am happy, so my writing is more relaxed and undefined.

Like, I want to write about how heavy my heart feels. Not a burdened heavy, but a solid fullness in my heart that is weighing in a good way. I can't describe it. It's easier for me to write about something weighing me down than the burden of joy. I can't describe it.

Suffice it to say that God is good.