So, as far as I know, I only live once.
In this body with this soul and mind and heart,
I get exactly
So, in this life, what’s done is done, and I either like the I’d-like-to-think-controlled-by-me-but-truly-most-of-the-time-by-chance-conceived-outcome or I.. well.. don’t. And if I don’t like what I get because I’ve compared it to that which others got and deemed it “NOT ENOUGH”, then I grow insecure and weary and bitter. Nonono, let’s not go there; that is some uuugly territory. It’s like a black hole in that it seems to suck people right in.
Therefore, on to more positive things — one specific positive thing, actually:
When I write, however, I get to rewrite and rewrite and rewrite. I get to choose this word over that, this syntactic construction over another, and the resulting text is, to the degree that I don’t use too many clichés, my very own controlled flow of meaning; truly, when I write, I have full control over the outcome. (Well, maybe not ‘full’, but.. more than in life. So.. close enough: in life, I am created; in writing, I create. Writing, therefore, is probably as close as I get to controlling something.)
And, you know, it’s really nice to be in control. Everything out there in the world is so messy, so unpredictable, so chaotic that writing really is a welcoming refuge. So, if you can’t find me in some relational activity out in this world every now and then, just know that I am safe. In those moments, it is likely that I am sitting somewhere in solitude, with a cup of steaming, magical aromas in one hand and a pen in the other. When you find me and speak to me in those moments, please ease me back into your, our reality, yes? Be gentle, be understanding, please. That’s all I ask.