Why Write

I’ve had a lot of time lately to think long and hard about why I should write. The usual questions like What’s my goal? Who am I writing for? Would it be okay if it’s just for me? How much am I willing to commit to someday getting marginally “better” at writing? What’s it all for anyway? (And I had to fend off the host of existential questions it later spawned.)

While journalling this morning I think I came closer to understanding my motivations. I ended up making a pretty broad statement that can be applied to all self-expression in general. But hope that this awareness will help me better define the shape, scope, and purpose of writing:

🖤 Writing is a political act. That feels more true and genuine than any other I participate in. Every moment I write (or read, depending on the piece) is a moment I’m choosing not to engage with all the inane/toxic dribble that tries to steal my attention. The majority of stimuli that fight dirty to demand my most precious resources (time/money/spirit) 🖤 It is as much a resistance of fake promises as a search for original thought, human connection, and self-expression. Writing for myself is true and unsullied it’s attempting to tap into the source, both primal and evolved. It’s undiluted, has no ulterior motive, free from agenda, free from bodily and societal limitations 🖤 Writing is a conscious act to block out the noise – so loud and copious – demanding me to look up. Almost none of that noise comes from a good place. By writing, I take it upon my powers to shut them out and invite truth into my space. I would never stop writing because it’s all for myself, like meditation 🖤 Writing is a practice of negation just as much as creation. It’s much easier to remove the trash when I focus on filling the space with something else. Where you tend a rose, a thistle will not grow 🖤


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