Reasons

Writing saves me. There's enormous release when thoughts are captured and pinned down on paper (or on screen). Writing shows them I'm in control; you crazies are not prancing around wildly scraping the lining of my membrane. Take that. For someone like me (and I know I’m the only one, right?) I need to weed them out. What is valid? What is beautiful? What is noble? What is important? Because all the rest needs to leave. All the rest might be poison, or worse, plain annoying.

The written word serves as a mirror, and just like looking at myself staring back, on some days this is comforting, on others unnerving, but always naked. Honest. Here's what that looks like. Do I like it? Whether I do or not this process becomes necessary.

Writing allows me to see, and, dare I say, enjoy the process, and consequently, it lets me enjoy my thoughts, no matter how out-of-sorts they may be, because sometimes when I don’t give up the truth emerges.

Pick. Squeeze. Taste and see. Peace.

I don’t mean there’s not a lot of agonizing in the journey. There’s plenty, a guarantee. If it sounds like I'm bravely trudging through the forest, hand on my sword, ready to slash; well, sorry, it's actually more like crawling and being eaten by bugs through the forest. Something like that. But at some point, perhaps at the end, I get there. Peace. It’s there like a promise.

And so in the end, maybe to write is to hold on. Cling desperately. Hope relentlessly. Again.

Maybe, if you’ve read this far, some of this makes sense to you. And that possibility is another reason to write.