Pen

Midday at work yesterday, J texted me about contributing a personal submission to our company mag.

As we spoke it segued into a conversation about writing.

About how we write because it feels like a personal calling to tell stories - stories about what we believe in and the people, things and ideas that matter.

About how writing is raw honesty and vulnerability. To dig into these thoughts and feelings you conveniently brush aside every day, and lay them bare on a page. Purposefully and with intention.

About how we feel torn between publishing and privacy. Some days, even writing here scares me. I draft long paragraphs of text only to click delete. I'm not sure if it's the fear of owning up to my own thoughts because it makes it real - if it wasn't transliterated and committed to a page, did it happen? Perhaps I never thought or felt it (ha, byproduct of this performative, self-reflexive world of social media we live in)? Or could it be the fear of others' thoughts about what and how I write?

I told him I'll check in with global about his potential submission, and he said perhaps one day I would gather up the courage to publish my writing.

One day.