Earlier today, I sent an email to someone, with the subject line, “I would rather say too much than not enough…” and then I finished the final paragraph with a line just as pithy and vague, “…ultimately, rather than say too much or not enough, I would rather say just enough.”
It was simultaneously the most clever and the most retarded thing I had written in a long time.
But it made me feel alive for the first time in months.
A few years ago, I kept a personal blog on this site. I wrote every day, just like I did when it became abundantly clear that I wanted to be a writer. And now I am a professional “writer,” which means I get paid for my words.
Correction: I get paid to translate someone’s insecure ramblings into coherent sentences that speak to a large audience. I get paid to use all the available brain power I have to write for the man. And I’ve been okay with that, until now.
Something has shifted in me lately that I cannot explain, and today, it became abundantly clear that I can no longer give myself to someone who is not invested in me. So after arriving home this morning loaded on coffee, afterglow and cigarettes, all I wanted to do was write.
I wrote like a fiend for hours.
Then I found this wonderfully pithy article that reminded me that my life is not over. It reminded me that I am alive, as long as I’m writing.
It was the sweetest thing…