I think it was in high school english class that this concept was first introduced to me.  Potter, a jolly woman, and an excellent writer, called it a technique that could make or break writers.  The way she explained it was that being a good writer isn’t just about writing well, it is about being able to write in a controlled environment.  She used a paragraph as an example.  “You sit down and write a paragraph each day, no more, no less, about anything that pops into your head, stopping mid sentence if you have to.”  This exercise, she explained, would teach us how to use our words wisely, and how to create something out of nothing.  It was a good tactic against writer’s block (which I almost never have, due to my graphophilia).  I have taken this idea and expanded it to a page.  Each day I try to write one page, no more, no less (with exceptions [always], of course).  This will be my hub for these pages.  Perhaps there will be some hidden gold inside. 
            The blank page is so beautiful because it can be anything.  It is the perfect illustration of existentialism (specifically, Sartre’s notion of “existence preceding essence”)!  The page exists first, as a void, a leaf of paper, blank, with infinite potential to be anything! It is up to the author to create it as he/she would like it, and they only do so by harnessing a blend of experience, talent, and choice of how they are going to mold and shape the page.  It’s a blank canvas, until it is not.  Like this page: first a white electronic tablet before my fingers tap tapped away at the keys, adding ideas and images only I could add.  That is what I love most about writing: the process of watching the page (or pages) transform over time.  They take on shapes, emotions, themes, and the like by my design! The only difference is that while the page takes on it’s form by outside design, people get to create themselves.  With this page an outward extension of myself, I give it life, and promise.
            This morning, as I drove to work, I noticed how beautiful the sky looked – with pinks bleeding over clouds, and tiny birds scattered throughout; flying south for winter.  It has taken me almost a year to get to a point where I could smile about my surroundings. Long Islandis not a place I ever imagined myself living, or working.  For the longest time I would look at my life in disbelief, not knowing how things could end up the way they were.  The universe is vast and strange, and everything happens for a reason.  Had I not moved out here, I never would have met Tom, and who knows where I’d be (I’m certainly lost without him)!  I missRocklandon a daily basis, but there is nothing left for me there.  The one thing tying me down there turned out to be a giant waste of my time and life, and I am glad to be far from it.  I have no regrets, but only wish I had made better decisions.  I could have done way more with the past six years than I did.
          My therapist would say I am harboring lots of anger from my youth, and she is probably right.  The way I was treated at home, and at school, stifled my development in a way.  I always felt like I needed approval, or acceptance, to thrive. And it was something I never got in the way I envisioned I should.  The first person to make me feel whole in that way I dreamt about, was Tom. He shows me that it’s ok to let go of all of those feelings, of all of that shit, and to be happy NOW (and I am, in large part, due to him).  Conditional happiness isn’t happiness at all, it’s an emotional hostage situation I am glad to be out of.  Every day I am learning more about myself and my world, and I am loving it.