I haven’t written in a while. There are a litany of reasons (or excuses, if you prefer) why I haven’t. But none of them matter. At the end of the day, the result is the same. I’ve silenced myself.
This morning, I was foraging through some journals I kept a lifetime ago and I came upon one without filled pages. In the front of the book, however, was an inscription from my sister, which simply read, “For my sister, the writer.” Damn. That hit me hard, and I came to a realization. In a reverse of what Miles tells Joel in Risky Business, I realized that if I can’t do it, then I can’t say it. And that is simply unacceptable. So, I am changing that starting here and now. I’ve put myself on hold for too long. It’s time to start doing what feeds my soul, brings me clarity, gives me conviction, and makes me feel alive. I’m going to take up some space in my own life.
Starting today, I plan to post something on this blog every day for the next three hundred and sixty-five days. I’m not sure exactly how I will manage this if the busy-ness of life or occasional lack of 5G or Wifi coverage aim to obstruct my path, but I will do my best to figure it out. Some days my post might simply be a photo and a reflection. Other days it might be a full on rant. I am leaving myself space to be human and to post whatever is feasible, compelling, or palatable that day and to forgive myself if it is not representative of my best possible work. Unlike the last time I published a post every day for a year, I’m going to strive not to stress myself out trying to compose daily 750-word missives and turning what should be life giving into something that is life sucking. This is about being accountable to myself and learning that it’s okay to live out loud and be seen.
Writers write. If I can’t do it, I can’t say it. And if I can’t say on my own blog that I am a writer, then I am lost indeed. I’m not a natural born risk taker, but not writing has proven to be risky business for my mental state. Sometimes, you just gotta say….WTF.