Why we write.

The paradox of life is breathtaking. Literally. Submit to gain freedom. Acknowledge your weakness to gain strength. Survive to find tenderness. Pull away to grow closer. Die to give life.

And so I write.

Lately, I find myself resistant to show up when faced with a blank page. It’s because I am trying to avoid the discomfort of a paradoxical life. Showing up in love when you are angry feels like a betrayal of Self. At the same time, performing an act of love to get past anger...also a betrayal.

And so I write.

The blank page has taught me monumental things. Life does not require performance, it requires only that you live through it. You cannot love others without loving yourself. And others cannot love you if you do not love yourself. Loving yourself only requires that you love yourself. Life is not a performance.

And so I write.

If you care for yourself, you can care for others. It is simple and the most complicated thing of all. You are able at the most basic level even when completing a task feels disabling.

And so I write.

What is inside of us is perfectly imperfect. We do not have to make something of ourselves. There is no expectation for us to be anything other than who we are. And we were born fully equipped for that task - yet we spend our entire lives trying, adjusting, modifying.

And so I write.

I write to discover all of these truths about myself. The things I never knew. The things I did not learn, yet. The ways about myself and others. The joy that exists amidst the pain. To live the life that exists inside the paradox.

And so I write.

We are afraid to show up to the page because we will learn that all of our work was in vain. That it was not necessary to gain outside approval. We were perfectly made. No qualifiers. Sitting through the discomfort of this complicated life is perhaps the biggest paradox of all. It’s an enormous weight for humans to carry.

And so I write.