Yesterday I left work a little early. The elevators and halls were still filled with important-looking people in suits, so I decided to keep my heels on until I arrived at the bus stop.
I was halfway there when my feet started to hurt. And I wondered, When was the last time I didn’t change my shoes for this walk?
This made me think of my semester in D.C., of my faithful red shoes that got me to and from work each and every day for four months. Through snow and rain and sleet and long days and long nights and car splashes they carried me. I think I still have them, just for the memory. I’m sentimental like that.
And then I started wondering why I have such vivid memories of my semester spent in Washington. Maybe it’s because it was a dream come true in so many different ways. Maybe because I witnessed history every day and have pictures to prove it. And maybe, just maybe, it’s because I wrote about it.
My Washington Times, an online journal in blog form, helped me sort out the days and weeks and months of new experiences and challenges and joys and stresses. I came home exhausted, but I always could write. I still remember the little nook in the corner of my apartment building where I would sit and write and hash out my day… and finally, post. It was my sanctuary, my haven.
I knew that people I loved and who loved me were reading my thoughts and experiences. Somehow, in a city all by myself, I didn’t feel so alone. Little did I know that my future husband and mother-in-law read right along with my parents and dear friends.
Writing helps you remember. And it’s because of that experience that I want to chronicle this new adventure. I want to live it to the fullest, experience the excitement and intimidation, record it all so that one day I can look back and not forget.
