It has been some time since I allowed myself to let the words just flow. At least in anything greater then a blurb. Over time, other things just seem to be more important. Life gets in the way which is ironic because I read to understand life. Sometimes I just keep reading the same old ideas from the same old names in the hopes that the one concept I am missing is in the next sentence, the next paragraph, the next chapter. It isn’t but with each new book a little more of the puzzle is filled in and I move on. Knowing, at least some time in the future, I will have the answer.
Someone, long ago, asked me why I read so many books on similar subjects. It is frankly unlikely, as it was pointed out, that anyone will add anything of value to well-worn thoughts. I actually stopped for a moment and fell quiet because I was both astonished and dumbfounded at the same time. Finally when the smoke cleared I said, “Sometimes the placement of a comma, a combination of words, or even the voice in the words can render the same thought in a uniquely colored possibility. Filling in the blanks that others had left with their words. It’s not that they didn’t say the right thing or even reach me, what it means is that there is still more to learn before I get where I need to be.”
I realized at that moment that what I really missed in writing was not me writing but the idea that my thoughts would never fill the mind or soul of those that need my comma placement or the combination of words that are uniquely mine. A voice distinctive enough to dramatically affect someone looking for that one thought that releases them from their tortured mind and expands their fundamental outlook that others have not been able to reach. Good enough reason for putting pen to paper.
See, if I can make a difference in one life then I have done well but if I can help countless people live better, grow more, then my words have surpassed even my greatest wishes and I served a purpose. Isn’t that what we all wanting, a meaningful purpose.