You’re welcome. I am welcoming you into this space, and acknowledging your sincere gratitude for gracing the internet with my thoughts; You’re welcome!
I don’t write. At least, anymore. I stopped writing a few years ago when I was going through my second (but truest) quarter-life crisis. It’s one of the things that has gnawed at me most during my existential impasse. My life used to be steeped in writing, I was consumed by it. I would write stories about books and theories, melodramatic made up stories that weren’t worth anyone’s time, stories about my adventures and mundanities, stories about my opinions. I would stay up until 4 am (due to procrastination, not productivity) writing feverishly. It felt glorious. Even though I was babbling at times, and at others talking out of my ass, I was really doing something, producing a thing, lots of things, sometimes things of value.
I can’t tell you how many times I have tried rekindling the flame. How many times I’ve wanted to write. How many times I’ve written entire articles or letters or blog posts or character studies in my head, recited them while lying in by bed, thinking: “I should get up and get a notebook or my computer and put this thing down.” How many times I never, ever put any of those thoughts to paper or to type. Like many things I’ve done in the past, this may be another thing that peters off as time passes, but I’d like to hope not. I’d like to hope that each time those thoughts come rushing into my brain and I feel like writing them out, I won’t be blocked by fear or uncertainty, confusion or sadness, or above all, insecurity. This time, I will start doing again.
To the future!