You aren’t guaranteed another moment. At any second you could be maimed, killed, destroyed or otherwise robbed of your capacities. You could become ill. You could be ill right now without knowing it.
You know when you’ve got a cold, and you remember the days wistfully when you took your unraw nostrils for granted? Or the lack of razorblades in the back of your throat? The regret of a really bad sunburn…
That’s nothing compared to the regret you’d feel if you were suddenly unable to write, ever, for the rest of your life.
Or, if you died, you wouldn’t be leaving your family that wonderful work that you’d been crafting all these years. It’d be a smattering of journal entries and blog posts and your instagram feed.
Is that okay with you?
Who are you?
My voice is about embodying the spirit of how I want to be perceived by those who have earned my respect, myself included. Be genuine; be genuinely who you want to be. Write in pen; pencil fades.