Knowing that I was not “the only one having human experiences” is what made me fall in love with reading. Later, it’s what made me fall in love with writing.
Why I write, tends to evolve. But at the core, the reason why I write is because I find forgiveness, courage, realizations and remembering. I hope that my writing offers that to those who read it as well.
Each time I put my pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard, whether I am working on fiction or a post for this blog, I never quite know what will come out. I don’t know what I will discover, realize, remember. And that is what makes it so exciting.
Not knowing used to scare me. It used to keep me from showing up to the page. I’d think,”Shit, I just wrote my character into a corner and I have zero idea of what happens next.”
Now, I find myself curious. And that curiosity gets me to the page.
While I hope my words my words resonate with others, that they help them find a way into forgiveness or courage, realizations or remembering, the real gift of my writing is that it allows me to show up in the world authentic and beautifully flawed. My writing keeps me tethered to all aspects of myself—the parts I love and the parts that shame me. Writing gives me no place to hide and as I learn to have compassion for all those parts, that compassion spills out into the world.
May that be my gift to the world.