I’ve been writing a lot more recently. I’ve always enjoyed writing, and now I certainly have more time given all the time spent at home due to the quarantine. There are many reasons that I love writing, but one of the reasons is because it allows me to indulge my anxiety over getting every word, every sentence, every bit of the story, just right. And for a story to be good, it needs to have the right ending.
Yet life isn’t like that. I don’t get to rewrite chapters I don’t like, even though it seems like I am trying, given how much time I spend obsessing about it. There is no right or wrong way to write the story of our lives, the story that all of us are writing.
And you might think that would cause me to obsess even more about my interactions with the world. And you’d be right, hence my anxiety. Yet by writing, whether fiction or non-fiction, I am allowed to explore these anxieties and the roots beneath them, which allows me to better understand myself. It allows me to better understand my anxiety. My depression. And it allows me to learn how to better manage those conditions.
There is no right way to write your story, but I promise writing can help you understand your tale even better. It doesn’t have to be a blog, like I do, or something you want to publish. It doesn’t have to be long. It can be notes jotted on a napkin, chicken scratch on used envelops or scrap paper. In other words, it can be whatever you want, so long as it helps you. There is no right way to write your story, just ways that you want and don’t. And writing can help you understand that.
And so can reading, and as always, I thank you for reading my stuff.