And so we write. In journals, on napkins, in notebooks, in the notes app on my smartphone, on scrap pieces of paper, on my laptop. Words, thoughts, ideas, unfiltered screamings of the mind, sandwiched between gentle soothings of the heart. For a writer, every empty space is a canvas and every situation a setting.

 

Where will the words go? Will they be read by others? Sometimes, and sometimes not. Often they are an aligning, a righting of self through writing, a way to honour oneself without distractions of technology, of other people’s opinions, judgements or views. To capture magic and the mundane. Words are a reflection, or an unveiling of the truth. A chance to lay bare all the doubts, the joys, the truths, and the hopes.

 

The hopes. The desire that lay dormant until you turned a corner on that run and saw a view that reminded you of a long-forgotten idea. The dream that you shape-shifted into something else, only to realize that the old shape was just fine the way it was.

 

We will get stuck at times. We will feel like the words are drying up, or they don’t hold the same power, or that they make no sense. And it is in this time of “stuck-ness,” that it is most important to write. It is most important to get those thoughts, no matter how faded and faint they feel, down on the page.

 

And so we write.