On Writing

Like many people, I’ve found a lot of comfort in writing out my feelings. I started back in high school -- I’ve found some incredibly cringe worthy journals filled with musings on the meaning of life and why any of this matters[1]. I’ve written on and off throughout the last decade of my life and I’ve continued because it’s helped me process a lot in life -- breakups, PhD anxiety, finding mindfulness at Comic Cons.

I only really consistently started writing, though, after my dad died in the Fall of 2020. I found a lot of solace in seeing my thoughts physically typed or written. In a lot of ways, it helped me to stop the spinning and spiraling going on inside my head and, quite literally, lay it all out.

I’ve never thought to make any of these thoughts public. Why should I? LOTS of people write, and write far more eloquently than me. I mean, heck, there are thousands (hundreds of thousands?) of jobs where folks write beautiful articles, novels, and poetry. What could I possibly have to contribute[2]?

Maybe my life isn’t about being productive all the time. Maybe not everything I do needs to be CV worthy. Maybe one person will read this, resonate with what I’m putting out into the universe, and move on with their life, knowing we share this thread of life together. Maybe not.

Regardless, here goes nothiꦏng.