How come life always seems more difficult in the present moment than in the past?
Reading over this blog, or in the random, half-filled diaries that are squirreled away all over my room, I know that I have struggled. I can almost remember the feelings of despair, hurt, or sorrow that accompanied each musing.
But it never seems it was quite as bad back then as in the present moment.
Perhaps it is because the present is a sort of unknown; you are faced with a problem, and you have to figure it out. When you look back at past problems, you have moved past them or found a solution, so you do not have to suffer through them again.
I sometimes wonder why I seem to write more about the difficulties in life than about the happiness. I think it is because writing can be part of my thinking process. When I write things out, it calms me and (sometimes) becomes clearer.
When I have a thought that is bothering me, I cannot get it out of my head until I write it down. It's like an annoying little pixie flitting about in my head, knocking into other things (files, boxes, papers, jars, memories, feelings, etc.), spreading chaos until I let it out into the bright light and it is tamed and manageable.
Things always seem better, safer, saner in the daylight.