A few posts ago I wrote about Why I Read. Today, I'm thinking about why I write.
Actually, I've been thinking about this since I relaunched this blog. Why do I blog? Why do I spend an hour (almost) every morning to gather my thoughts in written form and send them out into the world?
This morning I came across a post from Heather Bussing. She said:
"Sometimes it turns out I have written exactly what I need to hear." And with this she shared a beautiful post of hers, Good At Terrified.
And what she said reminded me of this:
I write because I have the impulse to--because writing is somehow in me, like a genie in a bottle (or something far more terrible). And because I trust the page. I trust it to handle what I have to say, to be patient with me, to tell me what I need to know.
The page is safe. It doesn't judge. It allows for, even welcomes, wild discrepancies. It gives witness to questions and leaves plenty of room for mind-changing. And the page knows that any effort I make to bring the world I see and the one I long for closer together is a damn noble one.