Reminder to myself

To be a writer, you must simply sit down and write.

But what will I write about? How do I know if it’s good?

Will the world like it? Appreciate it? Respect it?

Here’s the thing - it doesn’t matter who likes it or doesn’t like it. Whether you, the reader, like it or hate it or think I’m a fraud or think I’m a genius is irrelevant. I have already done the hardest part by the time you read my words, and nothing else matters.

For it’s the act of putting pen to paper, giving physical shape to the abstract swirling of my mind that is both the goal and the prize. And once that is done and I have prodded and poked and shaped my sentences just so, just as only I can, will it be good.

“Good” is what I think and what I do. No one else can tell me what is good, as long as it comes from my pen. If it comes from my pen, it comes from my heart, my soul, my mind. And although my heart and soul and mind may at times be low or sad or stuck in darkness , that is who I am. How can I tell myself I am bad or unworthy or a sham? I am me. My writing is me. And that is good enough.

So - all that leaves is what to write about. The story of my life? Shall I paint myself into a scene from the romantic alleys and markets in some far-away land? That all seems so shallow.

Maybe I’ll write about love and grief and anger, but this seems too abstract. Perhaps it’s just the daily life, the adventures through town or across the world or through my own mind that need to find their way from my heart and soul and mind, and maybe that is enough.

To explore my life through the lens of my life. To watch and feel myself from a distance so as to know what I really think or feel.

To know myself I must explore myself, and to explore myself I must write. And at the end of the day, it’s really that simple.