When you’re a writer, words are your go-to solace. It’s in their interplay that you find relief from the labyrinth of your own thoughts. It’s the act of putting them down or paper or keyboard that brings a hint of much-needed clarity in the world that all too often seems like it’s directed by chaos.
Words are my escape and, at the same time, my tool for inner wisdom. Writing them is the practice that’s shaped who I am today. Reading them has given me a sense of connection to the minds of others that I couldn’t find elsewhere.
But today, it feels like words are failing me. They slip by, unnoticed, as I’m in the phase of writing “content” and not “art.” Lots of them remain unspoken, like seeds forever hibernated in the soil that’s too hostile to feed them. The seeds are there, eager to sprout. But the soil doesn’t allow them to do their thing.
That’s how I feel about those seedlings of ideas in my mind. They are there. I can feel them. But because my mind is busy with work that feels like work, those seedlings cannot grow. I don’t have the time or energy to give them the care they need.
I have a lot to say and I can’t find a way to say it.
In the times of fake news and the neverending flood of online content, it’s easy to feel like words don't matter. Whatever you say can always be straightened up later on. “That’s not what I really meant” or “there must have been a misunderstanding.” We brush our thoughts off like this, denying them the validity they deserve.
We stop believing and trusting our own words or the words of others. What is there that shouldn’t be taken with a grain of salt? I don’t know. Everything should be. My own writing, definitely.
That said, I realize that this is just a change in direction. It’s a seismic shift in our — my — relationship with words. Something needs to change in the way I read, write and talk. That something isn’t very tangible yet, it’s just a feeling. But now, through writing about it, I’m giving it the validity it deserves.
I believe in the infinite potential that comes with change. I know that a change in my writing is underway. It’s inevitable. And although I can’t fully control when it happens and how, I can slowly start nurturing the seedlings in my mind.
This is what I’m doing with this piece of short, mostly unedited text. There will be no cover image this time. There will be no need for claps and curation.
What I’m publishing here is the first step away from content and towards art. I know I can’t call myself a “content writer” indefinitely.
The expiration date on a certain type of words is approaching.