I write because, if I don’t, I won’t know where I am. It’s comparable to how a bat uses echolocation: I give voice to my fevered, discursive thoughts, they bounce off the page/screen, and report back to the source with valuable information about the topography of my internal and external environment.
Like it or not, you and I are both particle and wave, simultaneously; neither of us are exempt from Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. Electrons, we are. We can either know where we are or we can know our speed, but never both. I’ve found writing to be the best way to measure where I am.
Other relevant facets of my identity:
- I am married to a woman who daily proves to be the incarnation of beauty, poise, grace, and strength
- Two small bundles of love and curiosity depend on me as their father
- I am incomprehensibly privileged to run a bright, young publishing company
- When my inner demons win out and my sandcastle collapses, I sometimes retreat and make prayer beads