Throwback to Tears

Sometimes I go back through my journals for inspiration, or even just for curiosity.  I was doing that today, looking for an idea for this post, and I ran across something I wrote when I was home from college on a Thanksgiving break.  I know this because it was during that holiday that my computer crashed without warning, and that day stands out in my memory.

I live in fear of computer failure.  When I was thirteen, I lost a novel and a half when our family computer shut down and the hard drive was wiped almost clean.  My own precious first work, gone like smoke in the air—I cried for days.  I cried in the second instance, too, though I didn’t end up losing very much.  I can still remember struggling frantically with the computer, turning it on for the few moments it would allow to try and save my documents.  Though this time I was a so-called adult, old enough to have my priorities in order, I sobbed for hours in fear, anger, and shame.

It’s this last that gave me the spark I needed to start writing this morning.  I’ve spoken about crying on this blog before (see this post) and there is a good bit of embarrassment that goes along with it.  It should have been less so in this instance, as I was safe at home, no one but my family to see me.  But I made note in my journal of someone—I can’t remember who now—laughing at my copious tears.  I’m sure it wasn’t malicious—they just thought that I was overreacting.  It was just a computer, and the important things were saved.  What’s the big deal?

The big deal, of course, was the scare I received.  I live a large part of my life in my imagination, and my writing represents long hours of my life.  Some of my projects have received months of work, and far more time when you consider how much time I spent thinking about them.  More practically, I hope that these projects will someday be my career.  I know that most people wouldn’t think much of it, but it hurt when others couldn’t see how much it meant to me.

I don’t write this as an accusation to whoever it was that laughed.  I forgave them for that a long time ago.  Instead I want to use it as a teaching moment for myself.  When something is so important to someone that they are upset at the thought of losing it, it deserves my respect, too.  However trivial it may seem to me, if someone else puts significance in it, then it is significant.  I hope to remember that in the future.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and make sure all of my work is backed up.