And now, a creative writing break

By Courtney LeMay

The other day, I was having writer’s block with a paper due soon in a class, so I decided to take a break from that and write what was on my mind. A half-hour later, I had a short story on my hands. It’s not a contender for a Pulitzer prize or anything, but it definitely helped me to focus better later. Perhaps there’s a lesson we can take away from that: stepping away from a stressful situation can help you refocus better later, and living in less stress is a great way to live younger. So the next time stress is, well, stressing you out, step back and take a break to do something creative: write, draw, sing…whatever it is that you do! (And check out my short story below!)

I sit in my dorm room alone, with the lights out, waiting by my desk. It’s incapacitating sometimes, that loneliness. I feel so empty when she’s not around. The sounds of movement and forward motion fill the rest of the dorm, but I don’t budge. Instead I contemplate the deep mysteries of the universe, of fears and love and shoelaces. Other times it’s almost like I’m holding my breath, waiting for my chance to scream to the world my true purpose, my higher calling, my raison d’être. But mostly, I dream of travel. Of the pursuit, the chase, the skip, hop and the jump that is life—my life. I was made for travel.

I pray for sunshine. The sound of the dry pavement underneath me, thump, thump, thump. It’s a sort of therapy for me. I live in fear of rainy days, where the warmth is replaced with a deep-rooted coldness, a damp darkness that seeps to my core. It makes me long for my home, a place I left long ago; a place I hardly remember any more, except the happy hum of productivity and hope and newness still buzzing somewhere inside my soul.

I can tell I’m getting older. I feel myself wearing thinner every day. But I’m not too worried. A few scrapes here and there can’t bring me down. Not when she’s around. No matter how worn out I’m feeling, she can always make things better—make me feel whole again. With her I feel wanted and perfect and oh-so-comfortable. I hardly notice the sun or the clouds or the rain or the puddles, because life comes back to me all in a rush when she’s with me. I am traveling. I am whole. I am the movement. 

And that’s what love is to a shoe—movement.

“The Life of TOMS,” by Courtney LeMay