Why Am I Doing This?
Every few weeks, I ask myself the same question. When I’m sitting there late at night, (in this case 10:45pm) and the words just won’t come. It’s not for lack of ideas, or potential titles, because right now I probably have 30 working titles at any one time, but on some nights the words don’t flow, and I can’t seem to find a thread of what I’m supposed to say.
And if you put a few of those nights together, it can get discouraging.
When I started this work almost 2 years ago, I began it more as a therapy for myself. I was in a tough place emotionally, trying to work through some of my biggest weaknesses.
Afraid, lost, and with no seeming direction to go in. The first ever reflection I wrote was about Kintsugi, the Japanese art of taking something that is broken, and in the act of repairing it making it more valuable, more beautiful.
Which resonated so much, because I felt so broken at the time.
Over the last 22 months, I haven’t kept an index, and I’ve very rarely re-read anything I’ve written. At first the work was essentially for myself, but then people started to comment on the posts. It seemed as though I was able to give people a little inspiration, a way to think differently, or just a moment where they could look at their lives from a perspective other than the one they were used to.
The work started to make a difference.
And somewhere along the way, it felt like the work became the writer, and I was just the person typing out the words. I had gone from writing what I wanted, to writing what each piece wanted to be known as. I get that that probably sounds crazy, because it does to me, but I have no other way to explain it. The work took over, and it became not about me, but about the people I was touching.
In short, it became about you.
Which is why, on the nights when I just can’t find the words, I sit and type until I find what I’m supposed to write about that night, and publish in the morning, Not because I necessarily want to, because sometimes I’m up until 2am trying to find the words and all I want to do is sleep.
Not because I think it’s going to change the world, because after 500 pieces, the world still seems as crazy as ever, if not worse.
I do it because you are important, you matter to me.
I get that I might not know you. That’s kind of irrelevant to me. I get that some days you might scroll past the post, and not read it. That’s your choice, and I completely honor and respect that.
I’m not unaware that sometimes I write things that are difficult to understand, or that may challenge the world view of someone who is reading. I make no apologies, other than to explain that I never try to upset anyone.
I write because I hope that if someone is experiencing a moment of darkness, where the world seems a cruel and heartless place, that they might know that there is at least one soul, one small light in the darkness, who cares for them when it might seem that no-one else does. He might not be there in person, but the words of the work will be there in the morning.
And maybe one day, they’ll make the difference when everything is on the line.
Today I want to give you my thanks, and deep heartfelt gratitude for your acknowledgement and support of this work. I want you to know that I write this for you, because in all of the madness, insanity, cruelty and darkness that seems to be ever present in the time in which we live, I want you to know that you matter. That you have value. That the world is a better place with you in it.
Which is why I try to respond to every comment, and why I still sit here when the rest of the world has the luxury to sleep and dream.
My dreams are in the letters, the words, the sentences, the paragraphs, the pieces and the work.
My dreams, like this work, are for you.
— Dr. Alan Barnes
@maddrbmusings