Yesterday, I was looking for a topic I knew Iād written about before. But I wasnāt sure if Iād ever published it. So I went searching ā through my vault of old drafts, partial posts, abandoned ideas, and half-finished pieces. Organizing that vault has been on my "somedayā list for a while now. I keep putting it off.
And then I started reading some of the old drafts. It felt like walking back into a room I used to live in, one I hadn't entered in years. A room that I could navigate with the lights off.
And there it wasāthe piece I'd been looking for, sitting among all the others I'd abandoned. Which made me wonder: why had I left so many of these unfinished, unpublished?
Iād tell myself I was too busy. That the ideas had gone stale. That Iād moved on. But really, it was a quieter resistance. The kind that doesnāt announce itself but just lingers.
Writing, when it happens in the moment, feels fluid. Like catching a thought before it takes a more concrete shape. Rewriting, though ā thatās different. Itās not just editing words. Itās stepping back into the mindset that made them.
Thatās when I understood: rewriting isnāt polishing. Itās time travel with consequences.
Reading old writing isnāt just revisiting the words. Itās meeting the person who wrote them. The turns of phrase I thought were clever. The tone I thought struck the right balance. The ideas I believed were solid, maybe even worth sharing.
Sometimes I nod along; sometimes I wince. I catch myself wondering, not āWhat was I thinking?ā ā but āWho was I trying to be?ā
Rewriting asks for more than a better sentence. It asks whatās changed, not just in how I write, but in what I believe.
Some pieces I revisit and think, āYeah, I still mean this.ā Others⦠I hesitate. The words are fine, but the person behind them feels distant. And thatās the hard part.
Editing, when itās honest, isnāt just improving. Itās letting go.
I still donāt love going back. Some drafts feel like fossils. Others feel too close, like theyāre still breathing. But Iām learning to treat them with care.
Revisiting those moments isn't just about cleaning them up. It's about listening to who I was, so I can respond with who I am now.
Each one holds a version of me ā what I noticed, what I believed, what I thought was worth capturing.
So yes, rewriting is time travel with consequences. And one of them is meeting yourself again...
Banner image is Saint Jerome in His Study by Albrecht Dürer.