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It Is a Son of a Biscuit Being a Writer Sometimes

The moment I want to bear my soul online, there lies a dance between myself and my ego.

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For as long as I can remember, I have been doing this wild dance with writing. It’s been probably since 2008, when I first stared at a blank screen, the cursor yelling at me to write something in a methodical blinking pattern we all are way too familiar with. I remember sitting in the dining room of my childhood home, storm clouds of a fall rain off in the distance, the sun peaking through. I was wearing sweatpants that hadn’t been washed in a week. There was a bowl of granola sitting to the left of me half-eaten baking underneath the overhead lamp of the dining room table. I wrote the first couple of sentences, immediately took my mouse, highlighted what I had written, and deleted it. I got up from the table and started pacing around it, pondering what in God’s name I should be writing about. I sat back down and did it again, writing only to delete out of fear that it was not good enough and who would give a shit about reading it.

This is the dance I have been engaged in. To this day, I still sit with these feelings of doubt, feelings of what do I have to contribute and say to the internet. The moment I want to bear my soul online, there lies a dance between myself and my ego. My ego tells me to play it safe, to write a list post or a how-to article. My ego tells me that writing your feelings is for suckers, is for the old days of online writing. I remember those days vividly. Typos were acceptable. You could say whatever the hell you want without the Twitter mob or Reddit community crucifying you. You could leave it all out there, a daily medicine that worked like a charm. You felt better. You looked forward to tomorrow where you could share your feelings again.

I miss those days and this past week and the one prior were heavy weeks for me. There have been the emotional weight I have not felt in a long time, conflict of how I should feel and what do I feel about certain things going on in my life. There has been alleviation of self-induced pressure from achievement, a vulnerability I have not sat in before. It has pushed me to operate in a new area, a new territory. Whenever I have been in this space, writing has been my guiding light, my source of making sense of the world I am in.

Any writer will tell you that writing is a grind. It is the ultimate pursuit of the exploration of the human condition. When you think have something figured out by jotting down your feelings, something new pops up. You have to explore that as well. And it is a son of a biscuit. It is not easy to be in this day in and day out. That’s why writing is hard. It takes brainpower. It takes guts. It takes an immense amount of courage to bare your soul, to find a perspective to make sense of this ride we call life. And when it gets tough, we writers double down on our emotions. We push through the discomfort of it. The dance we go through, to publish or not, is a dance we will encounter our whole life. It is a dance where the only way to truly lose yourself in the dance, to execute it masterfully is simply by writing without regret, without fear of peril. Just writing to write for the sake of your own condition.

This morning, I am writing for the sake of my own condition. I finally felt enough courage to get back on the horse and write. Maybe it was the 4:30 AM wake-up with a cup of black coffee and MCT oil that gave me enough courage. Maybe it was the sleepless night I just had that fuels what I am sharing. Whatever it is, I finally feel like I am where I am supposed to be; sitting in front of this screen baring my soul for none other than myself.

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