When it comes to being a writer, I know I’m not an expert. I write constantly — pretty much at every waking moment in one capacity or another — but a good amount of it is only seen by a tiny group of people. I write emails to clients, notes to friends, secret revelations I don’t understand, text messages and post-its and endless lists. At my core, I know I am a writer more than anything else apart from a reader. Words are my true religion and have been as long as I can remember.
The odd thing I’ve noticed, however, is that I only Write — in the sense of something whole and edited and publishable, if only on sites such as this one — when I’m secure in myself. I have to be in my baseline in order to want to share whatever I’ve made. Not too happy, not too sad. Due to a lot of work over the years, I’m in my baseline most of the time. It’s better than the negative extreme, even if it does keep the positive outliers at bay.
Over the past few months, I have lived in those extremes. My life has been either intensely joyful or debilitatingly difficult far more often than it’s settled in the baseline. As a result, I don’t want to share personal details. I keep these moments to myself and those to whom I feel closest, either to protect and savour them or because I don’t fully understand them yet. It’s too dangerous to let them out into the world.
I’ve been working on a few pieces for this blog in my head, one for quite some time and the other just over the course of the last two very difficult weeks. I’m hoping to have them put together soon and be able to let you all in. In the meantime, I hope all of you are safe and well and warm.