I don't know what it is, but the process of just writing these words – of just starting – is potent. It doesn't matter how much time has passed; the act of writing is always new. That's the appeal of it, I suppose.
Of course, having all of the accoutrements of writing is fun; apps, tools, and books. Writing about writing is a kind of practical procrastination. However, nothing beats the act of writing itself, whatever it may be about.
In this last bit is where I think of something profound to say, something that will wrap up my thoughts in a nice little bow. I'm never at a lack for something profound, but sometimes all you can say is goodnight (see, that's kind of profound). In any case, why don't we end with a 1…2…3…4.
I’m writing this because I like to write, and I enjoy putting words together. Perhaps something profound will come from it, but you’d think that after several hundred articles I’d have run out of profundities by now.
Sometimes things are perfectly clear to me, but then a psychological shrink-wrap of confusion sticks itself around my mind. I’ve learned that the more I struggle, the more suffocating it is, so I remain calm instead.
I keep going back to the feeling I had as a kid when I felt carefree and innocent. Over the years, I’ve held onto that childlike quality through various experiences that would otherwise make me bitter and cynical.
I think there’s some virtue in being sincerely naive about life. After all, if you’re going to do something, then do it with sincerity.