It has all been said before.
Hasn’t it? The words I say now, this sentence I write…someone has written it before.
Most likely I am plagiarizing quite by accident.
Truly, what could I possibly write that hasn’t already been penned, posted or blogged?
I am honestly amazed by the universe of information in the palm of my hand: A gift, I believe, for those passionately curious. I can ask anything, and my electronic device will offer thoughts or answers from any number of the billions of humans with which I share this planet. Someone has thought of this before. Someone has written about it.
There certainly is no shortage of words. In my world, silence is rare. There are layers of sound and piles of words everywhere. Sometimes I think that it really doesn’t matter if the words are heard or understood…there just seems to a need to produce them. I’m not sure why this appears to be true–but I feel it…so why would I possibly want to write and add more words to the pile?
I believe it is true with spoken words as well. I’ll admit that I am generally awkward and unskilled in the group conversation game. Some people are so good at it…I am not. Within a group of people talking, I usually don’t say much, but when I do add to the conversation it is usually something odd like “Wow that’s great!”, “Hmmmm…”, or “That’s a lot of shoes.”
So who is actually listening to these words? Anyone? Are we just tolerating what others say or write because we are waiting for our turn to add to the word pile? What would be the point of that? Why would I or anyone want to write a blog?
And yet…I do. I am.
I have decided to add my .com to the infinite others.
Why? I am not entirely sure. But I do know that creations of words and ideas are always in my mind, floating around in conversations with myself…So many thoughts. I rarely speak them: I have little desire to add to the layers of sound.
Silence–listening, hearing, understanding–is a rare treasure. I will not interrupt anyone just for the sake of heaping my own personal thoughts onto the word pile.
However, writing is different…isn’t it?
If I write and publish my thoughts, it is totally up to the reader when or if these words are received. I don’t have to interrupt, justify, or demand my right to say them.
I have come to believe the words of a wise writer who once told me, “…Writing is meant for the author first, hang what the world thinks.”
Maybe I needed to hear that. I have always felt a little outside of normal: A palm tree in a pine forest. As I add years and experiences, however, I am starting to understand how I am not alone. I am beginning to see that there are outliers just like me, asking ourselves why we seem to see the world from a different angle, wondering if we should try harder to conform. In my early times of struggle, I believe I would have welcomed the voice of some old hippie chick telling me it’s okay to remain weird, assuring me that it is actually what we were created to do.
Maybe now I am that voice.
I may have perspectives and experiences that are unique. I may connect in some way to speak to a need, offer understanding, or assure other weird artists that we are not alone…but deep down it is also for me. I need this.
And so I write.
Yes, it HAS all been said before…but not by me.
