By Dave Hood
“Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre
We are born, we live, we grow old, we die, then there’s nothingness, nonexistence. It’s as if we never existed. And so, I write to leave a foot print.
I often feel detached, alienated, isolated, disconnected from the society in which I inhabit. It’s as if I’m experiencing an existential crisis. And so I write. Writing connects me to my soul and to life.
I write to bring order to chaos, make art of the banality of life. I write to reveal my thoughts, convey my feelings, share my experiences. I write to state my opinions, as if an editor composing an opt-ed column. I write to express my creative spirit, like an artist painting a portrait.
I write to share my life stories, lessons learned, universal truths, epiphanies, illuminations, like a sage sharing words of wisdom. I write to mine my memories, make sense of them, as if solving a puzzle. I write to understand who I am, who I’m not, who I might become. Writing is a catharsis–therapy for making sense of myself.
I write like a spiritual seeker on a journey, searching for answers. I write about my ghosts, my demons, skeletons that lurk in the closet of my life, as if I’m disclosing secrets to a therapist.
Writing provides me with an opportunity to philosophize about the absurdities and conditions of the world in which I live, like a philosopher king.
I write to feel a sense of achievement, like a runner training for and then winning a marathon.
Writing injects meaning and purpose into my life. It’s a flow experience, elevating my sense of well-being.
I feel pleasure when I write, and so I’ve made writing a habit.
This is why I write.