You write because there’s fire in your bones. You’ve got to do this whether anybody ever reads it or not.
Eugene Peterson
I need to write. Whether anyone ever reads it or not. There are deep springs within me which well up and need expression. If they are blocked or plugged up the pressure builds up or the waters become stagnant.
It is not enough to think or even speak. There is an added dimension which comes from externalising my thoughts and feelings. It is both clarifying and purifying. Writing sharpens my thought and releases my fears and anxieties. It lays out complexity in ways that untangle it, at least from my brain.
Writing doesn’t solve or resolve all my questions or problems. It doesn’t control or contain them. But it does limit their power to overwhelm or consume me.
Writing expands my capacity to think and to feel. It puts me in touch with more shades of meaning through a broader vocabulary. It causes me to dig deeper, ponder longer and feel more fully the pain and joy of others.
Having said all this, it is costly and time consuming, brain wearying and heart challenging to write. It exposes my heart to others in a way which is vulnerable and that can be examined, critiqued or mocked. Once shared it can’t be hidden or disowned as belonging to another.
But still I must write even when my brain is tired and my heart is weary. Even if no one else ever reads it.
