“Why do we write?”
Why do we write? Why do YOU write? I am always trying to write. This means I am thinking about writing and then I think some more. I make priority lists, I make infinite cups of tea, I look for THAT pen my college time boyfriend gifted me six years back, I jot ideas in a tissue paper at starbucks, and then use it to play fetch with my dog. Yes, everything but write.
I don’t write much, not at all.
What is the hype around writing anyways? What is it about a few words strung together to tell a story? How is it different from the mindless noise we encounter in our everyday lives? How I wish we would all shut up sometimes, especially me and my mind. So, how is ranting on a paper or Medium any different? Is it the need to mark your thoughts for eternity? Is it to remember who we are now, and probably look back to remember who we were, somehow?
I have always known I am a bad writer because I do not possess a thick skin. I know I am vulnerable when it comes to my writing. Yes, I am not very forthcoming to people when it comes to my thoughts laid bare open revealing a part of myself, after an internal battle with myself.
So why? What is this arrogant need to fill the world with my own voice?
A stranger I met recently, called me a narcissist at our first meet, and I was taken aback! He went on to say, “You are a writer, aren’t you?” Then yes, you are a Narcissist.”
It took me a while to get there, but I believe he was right. There is a whiff of narcissism in creativity, a voice that needs to speak to the world, in whatever art, in whatever form. All writers want to be heard, and we are all trying to communicate to the universe, in our own way, to find our place in this equation. Most of us write to connect, to join the conversation.
But that’s not why I write. I write, to disconnect. To break free from every train of thought, and every thing that chains me to the system. There is a strange sense of pleasure in words pouring out of your head without you thinking. Yes, writing disconnects me from everything else, connecting me to my most raw, most naked self.
May be that is why, I don’t write so much. It is a difficult feeling to let go of your safety gear and plunge into an abyss.
But, the feeling when you get that thought down on to a sheet, is priceless! The fear you conquer at that moment, gives you a unique kind of high, and Yes, I like HIGH!
As with so many other fellow writers out there, I want to write. I want to write a lot more. It makes me feel alive and effectively calms down my restless soul. Why then, is it so hard? Why do I so expertly distract myself from something I desire so badly?
Is it fear? Being a writer is like asking the universe to reject you, over and over again. Yet, I stay up most nights weaving stories in my head, overthinking simple situations and conjuring drama out of thin air.
Perhaps, I am just lazy. Look at me writing an article about my inability to write! I am always going through life looking for inspiration. I look for it, in the early morning blue skies, in my dog’s heartbreaking big black eyes, in the way butter melts on hot toast, in the way I sometimes twirl and become socially awkward while interacting with other humans.
Perhaps, life itself is the inspiration. Or Writing is. I cannot decide.
So, why do you write?
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