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As I struggle to write, sometimes I wonder why I even do it.
And when I don’t, I then get this strange uncontrollable urge to write something, anything.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
And now in addition to that crazy struggle, I’ve caught myself getting upset of late. All because nobody “shares” the posts I put out.
And I worry if anyone even reads my stuff?
And do they like it?
And if they do, why would they not share it?
Not good enough?
Should I be doing more?
Write better?
All of which came to a head today.
And after a bit of laughing at my silliness, I decided to write down what I tell myself every year.
Because I do write.
Whether anyone reads it. Or not.
Which is why I wonder why I get trapped in this weird neurotic spider web every year.
I’m done comparing, in the words of Lamott, my insides to their outsides.
So a few thoughts to myself on why I do it. A non exhaustive list …
- I love to read.
- I love to write.
- I write primarily for myself. First and foremost.
- I write because I cannot help it.
- I write because I cannot not write.
- I write to document things and thingamajigs and doodads and small things and big things. Because I forget. And writing helps me remember. And then it helps other people learn. And then they teach me new things. And I learn more. And I write more. And the whole virtuous cycle repeats.
- I write because everything in me, has got to come out on the page, so that there is space within me, to then function.
- I write because then everything slows down to the pace of my fingers rather than the crazy light speed dizziness within my brain.
- I write because I can then think.
- I write because it sharpens my focus.
- I write because it makes it easy to forget.
- I write because I read what I write. Even if no one else does. Even if no one else wants to. Even if no one else can. And I love my past selves, who’ve scribbled their thoughts and feelings to protect me, shield me, guide me and give me comfort, solace and love.
- I write because then, my heart then aches a little bit less.
- I write because it’s brought me back from the edge of the void. Twice.
- I write because it helps me be resilient. Persistent. To quote Taleb, Antifragile. And to quote Angelou, “You may trod me in the very dirt / But still, like dust, I rise.”
- I write because I have scars. And writing lessens the hurt. To quote Bareilles, it helps me hold on, till there’s something else to hold on to.
- I write because …
- I write because today I realise, that’s who I am.
I am a writer, because that’s what I do. I write.
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