There was a time I would have said there was no give for the feeling of being this way, in love with being alive. Not for any save those who were born of this magic. Now, more and more, I am finding that changing. I have what it takes to let those who want to feel it, feel it, if they want to. Is this my motivator? Is this what keeps my fingers clacking against the keys day in and day out, even on those days when I am so uncertain of what I am doing? It can’t be about anything else, I don’t think. I’ve tried it all. I’ve tried obligation. I tried the expectations of others. I tried experimentation. I even tried doing it because I could. But inevitably it made progress require so much force out of me that I grew to hate it. I thought I hated writing. It seemed so slippery, something I needed all my will to do.
But within, and through all the years of forcing it, it was there. It always has, and, I suspect always will be. I am possessed of a love for expression, a love so strong it terrifies me and keeps me awake nights, breathless as I realize how much of a hold it has on me. And I love that feeling. Yet I admit it did isolate me. Only here and there in my life have I seen others gripped so strongly by this love. But now, I see we all can be. We’re just afraid of saying so, for some reason. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t know, frankly, if I’ll ever achieve the fearlessness I wish to have. But I do know I don’t want to let it stop me. I’ve been able to step over it before, and I can do it again. And again. And again. I can touch, just as I have been touched. I want to give others the love that the expressions of others have given to me. Because it’s so utterly wonderful.