Writing

I Used To Be A Habitual Tresspasser

  • August 29, 2015
Abingdon Ceramics Factory

Abingdon Ceramics Factory by Craigfinlay on Flickr

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When I was younger, life seemed so easy. Writing seemed easier; I was young, naive, restless, and wild. Uninhibited, never self-conscious, filled with thoughts, ideas, and seemingly endless inspiration. I felt comfortable documenting every thought, emotion, and experience, completely unfiltered and uncensored. All my random, empty thoughts, subtleties, and obscure observations, often conveyed in riddles or rhymes.

When I was younger, no older than 16 years of age, I would seek out my own adventures. I foolishly left my camera behind out of fear that someone might find the pictures. Instead, I brought along only a days worth of food, and my writing notebook.

I was a habitual trespasser; wandering into places most people rarely think about, and never visit. I found these places inspiring, often surreal. To think that I was all alone in a strange place I had never been before. All alone, in a place that had been abandoned, forgotten, or neglected.

I never told anyone where I was going, not even my parents; I would only promise to be safe and return home at a specific time.  Looking back, it seems some things never change.

Colophon
The header image was taken at Abingdon Ceramics Factory by Craigfinlay.  It was originally posted on Flickr, and is being used under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License.

Asides
I Am The Only Child Of An Atomic Engineer | It’s Been So Long Since I’ve Seen Something Incredible | 6th Grade And Other Mishaps | Copious Notes | Cari Ann Wayman | The Power Of Keeping A Notebook

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