Why Write?

In the many iterations I’ve sought to tell my story, I have wavered the most at having a blog.

I officially began one 11 years ago (wow!) and it had the mission statement of “living a  life worth writing about.”

Why I felt like a blog needed a mission statement leaves me as prickled as the said statement ending it in a preposition; but nevertheless this was my intention, and all things considered, I did just that:

I moved, traveled, loved, grieved, and wrote everywhere from across the world to in a hospital bed.  Then time happened, and suddenly it became harder to write.

Some of that is physically, for the ailments that have plagued me since I was a kid are still churning.  My Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis takes longer to recover, making each effort spent at a keyboard infinitely more valuable.  Still, I think more of my hesitancy came from devaluing the significance of my story.

As the world we knew transformed into a dated reality, where having good morals meant having any at all, and ambition was reduced to striving not to starve, how could my singular story represent so much of what we need to change?

This stalled me for years.  

Even knowing, as I have for most of my life, that words are my greatest resource.

As much as I long (even still) to be in front of a camera, bringing life to a character as much to the audience, I must claim writing as the artistic medium to which I can turn most fluidly. 

The well of inspiration never runs dry for me, and my command over words is fed by my love of learning the story behind each one.  Etymology is like finding the first node of a plant that has since matured into a verdant and variant beauty, and the wonders of each (both of plants and words) grant me the oxygen to breathe.

And still I held back.

That energy poured itself into others’ stories: ghostwriting and coaching others to grow their own dreams, or caring far too deeply about the backstory of…. corporations, which tended not to pay me their notice (or enough in wages) for the effort and care I placed in preserving their integrity.

But, as our world continued to rotate backwards, so to speak, it threw me back too.  I began to recall the magic of transforming a blank page into a story, and that there were those who read my words.  My “mission statement” has since been revised to “making a positive impact on others,” and even my strongest doubt would have to bend to the fact that I can indeed do that.

I can’t promise the journey will be bright; my life tends to have more problems than solutions, but I can ensure honesty.  I have endured a lot, and I find power in sharing those challenges transparently (and often at length).

And now, unlike before, when I worried about the significance of my story when held up to another’s, I see my words as a voice added to the chorus that’s belting for change.

And if I can add even a touch of harmony to our world, how could I ever again doubt the significance of what I create?

So this is why I write. I pledge to write and share as much as I can, be they essays, poems, bemusing tales, or wholesome stories, and I hope it’ll make a difference.