Why do you write? I’ve been asked this question several times. (I’ve also asked myself.)
I have no idea. Have a nice day! …
Ok, fine. I’ll try to delve into the answer, dig down deep and attempt figure it out as I’m writing this.
I’ve always loved the written word. It fascinates me how the same group of words, depending on how they’re put together, can create a whole new meaning each time. It fascinates me how one person can write down their thoughts and it might speak to a neighbor or someone across the globe. Hopefully in a good way.
I fully realize just the word blog can create the giant eyeroll effect from many people. I wasn’t one of those people and I started reading a few. I found it interesting that someone could just spill the contents of their brain and others would stop by periodically to witness the aftermath. Sometimes it brought tears, sometimes laughter. Sometimes I was happy to know I wasn’t alone.
That actually seems to be the big reason I write. I talk to others frequently and express a thought or feeling about something and a wave of relief washes over them. They are no longer alone.
People tend to store inner most thoughts on a private island. We even make little volleyball friends for them (name that movie!) in an attempt to create comfort, yet they still feel alone. Then someone comes along, shares the same thought and just like that the private island thoughts have been rescued and are free to feel worthy. Another person feels the way I do! This also happened to someone else! They went through this and survived, I can too!
I get it, people are afraid to
share their thoughts. I am.
It’s terrifying actually.
Once my brain cells began to slowly recover from back-to-back babies and toddler years, I started waking up and having these words flow through my head. As I scrubbed shampoo into my hair they were beginning to type out and form rolling paragraphs. (Picture the Star Wars intro.) This would continue all day until I could spew them into writing. One day I just decided to share these words. One terrifying day.
See, people reading your thoughts also have their own thoughts. The words I intend to be interpreted one way can reach a person on a whole different level. It’s a bit stressful. Especially for an overthinker.
There’s also the issue of zero feedback. (Not that I’m currently asking for it.) Maybe I should say limited, not zero. With a blog, so many people read these words I’ve just smeared on the page and then walk away leaving me, the writer, to wonder what they thought. The posts are shared over and over, but the writer never sees who or where or how or why it’s shared or any comments it recieved.
I get it. Not everyone likes to read, and who am I to say that my thoughts are even worth their time anyway?
In case you’re wondering though, it’s like standing in a crowded room and telling a personal secret into the microphone only to hear a few throat clears or papers shuffling. You want to slowly walk backwards out of the room and run forever once out of sight. Why am I doing this? Great question.
It’s because I love it anyway. I love that it is my release. I love that it speaks to that one person that needed to read those words at just that moment. (Even if I only find that out a small percent of the time.) That’s enough.
I got a fortune cookie last week. It said, writing is thinking on paper. I chuckled at the timing.
Why do you write? I’m not sure if I ever really answered the question, but I will continue to write until it’s time to stop and I’ll hope in the meantime a thought or experience I’ve shared will help someone else along the way.
There. Now, have a nice day!