Why Am I Writing This?
So I’ve been in kind of a pit lately of what may be referred to as “writer’s block,” but I feel like it’s beyond not knowing what to write about.
It’s more that I don’t know why I’m writing.
I’m a little frustrated with myself for even saying that, because I had this whole epic epiphany a few weeks ago which led to my first ever blog post, and the whole point of that post was that I realized it was time to just dive in and give up trying to sound all perfect and wise and helpful — to embrace the journey and write about said journey in a totally unfiltered, vulnerable, real way.
I mean, that epiphany is still permeating my writing and consciousness to an extent, so it’s not like I lost it or anything…
I guess now my issue, my perceived issue, is that when I write from this place of rawness and vulnerability, I can’t help but ask myself… What is the point?
Why would anyone actually want to read about the vulnerable fucked up-ness of some totally random person they found on the internet? Because that’s pretty much what this is — I don’t know a lot of people, I never post stuff on social media, and I have almost no internet presence (aside from this website of course)…
So what’s the point? How is writing this blog really helpful for anyone except me?
Am I totally selfish for writing with no specifically intended plan to actually help people?
Drawing from My Experience
When I was in my earlier stages of waking up, I read a lot of different stuff ranging from informal blog posts to revered sacred texts, and all of it was helpful. I talked about this in blog article numero uno, how reading about the imperfect, unpolished process can be just as helpful, if not more so, than some official encyclopedia.
And then this is where my memory is a little more fuzzy. Because part of me wants to say that during that time, I was so desperate to feel better and more whole that whenever I read something online I would kind of impatiently scroll down and down until I got to the point of the article, not really giving a shit about the author’s personal experiences or struggles or whatever — because I didn’t know them, I didn’t care, I didn’t have any extra energy to care — I just wanted to feel better.
But then another part of me vaguely recalls finding some comfort and solace from reading about those personal experiences, even from strangers, and seeing how other people struggle too…
I think that was actually part of what made me love Meghan Currie even more, her beautiful raw blog posts — although to be fair, I had already fallen in love with her awesomeness from her YouTube channel at that point… Would I have resonated with her posts that much if I hadn’t discovered her channel yet? I don’t know…
To Write or Not To Write
So I could probably keep going on about this, semi-rambling about the two primary possibilities presenting themselves:
- Writing these articles is pointless because it makes no sense for anyone to care about the perspective and process and ramblings of some random unknown person named Alexa
- Writing these articles is not pointless, and may actually be helpful in some way, perhaps even inspirational in their realness
I realize that I’m never going to come to any kind of real conclusion on this. And it doesn’t even need to be one or the other in the first place — there are probably some people who vibe more with #1, and some with #2.
Which now seems really obvious…
No shit — of course not every single human out of the billions that exist are going to have the same opinion.
Sometimes things make more sense to me when I write them out.
There is a third option that kind of overlaps #s 1 and 2: I can write these, in a sense, for myself, regardless of the apparent level of pointlessness. I mean, ultimately it’s not for myself, but right now… I just have this compulsion to write that I can’t explain. I want to ride this wave, to “flow with it” as my friend Hugo would say. Or to follow the breadcrumb trail of excitement, as Bentinho Massaro would say.
Tonight is the peak of the Perseids meteor shower by the way, so I’m being serenaded by occasional meteors outside my window as I write this, which is pretty awesome.
Okay, so… that’s it? That’s it. We’re going to continue to write, regardless of relevance, regardless of pointlessness, regardless of anything. And by “we” I mean me — often it comes out as “we” for whatever reason.
So I’ve written this entire blog post on the validity of writing blog posts, essentially.
There’s probably a lot of psychological analysis to be gleaned from that, but I think I’ll leave that one alone — for now, anyway.
I want to add some kind of pithy closing sentence here, but it’s not really coming to me…