Anybody ever tried their hand at writing, a short story, a book, poetry, a blog? Of course, you have. If you’re reading this, you are probably a writer, a writer-want-to-be, or someone with an itch to translate your thoughts to written words. I’ve been blogging for a couple of years now; however, I’ve yet to consider myself a writer. To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever consider myself as such. The thought of me writing the great novel has never graced my mind.
I think I can say, with some degree of certainty, that those of us who have decided to step out and expose a part of ourselves to the world, through writing, are some brave souls. So, you think there’s nothing brave about forming a few words to a computer screen, laboring over them to try to get them just right, and casting them to the winds of cyberspace for strangers to sift through? I remember when I posted my first blog. My nerves were a bit on edge. I was in hopes that the world would come to my cyber door, read a small part of me, and lavish me with accolades. No. I didn’t really feel that way. I pray that my ego is much smaller than that of a consummate narcissist. I did, however, feel that I was laying a part of me open for scrutiny. The kind of scrutiny that would move someone reading my musings to think I can identify with that, I can see where he’s coming from, and I think he might have something there.
As I’m quickly approaching the end of my sixth decade of life, I’m finding myself more motivated to share my thoughts. All my life, I’ve been somewhat of an introvert. Though not chronic to any degree, an introvert none the less. I’m one of those types, who invest a lot of time sitting quietly, listening intently, and speaking passionately about an issue whenever I do decide to speak my mind. In recent years, I’ve felt an increasing urge to write my thoughts down, and to share them. Blogging provides the perfect venue for me to scratch this itch; an itch fed by a desire to share my thoughts in hopes that they just might be of benefit to maybe a few people reading them.
I write because I’ve wanted to write for a long time. I write for all the reasons stated above. I write because I feel there’s someone dressed in a black robe, hooded similarly, and carrying a sickle, stealthy approaching me from behind. Not to be morbid, but I do feel my mortality with much more fidelity these days than ever before. There are a lot of things I want to say, and I have less time left to say them. I just pray that my God gives me many more days, months and years to share my thoughts. Sharing on these pages will by a part of my meager legacy.
Thank you for reading my musings!
I’m old and blessed…hope you will be too.