Yeah, I forgot how to write.
No, I never knew how to write. I used to know how to think, I think. But writing thoughts down – that never made any sense.
Words, yes. I know plenty of words. Sentences, yes. I can make those – an occasional gem among the basics. Ideas, sure. I can come up with a few. But writing, no. No.
Even in response to basic emails, requiring little more than a simple reply and maybe a time or date confirmation, I drain myself to ponder word choice, tone, and all of my childhood insecurities. Because, quite unfortunately, everyone I email has the potential to be the one who exposes me as the phony I hope I’m not. So tread lightly, I tell myself. Take your time and choose wisely. Will it be “Best regards” or just “Best”? Delete. Delete! “Love always.”
When words are written, the thoughts that inspire them become permanent. The impressions they create become lasting. And the person who’s responsible becomes exposed.
With a busy mind and crowded thoughts, the dangers of lasting impressions seem too great.
Do I really want to tell the curriculum guy from this remote school district that I’ll love him always? Delete. “Kindly.”
When times get harder, thoughts get more conflicted, and doubts grow stronger, writing just seems ridiculous. Like putting chunky peanut butter through a sieve. Nothing’s coming out. And yes, my busy mind is exactly like chunky peanut butter – tempting and distracting, but gives me acne.
“Kindly” isn’t even a thing I would ever say. It’s obvious I’m copying the email I received from the Tax office asking me to consider making a payment…kindly. I’m not that kind. Delete. “Thanks so much.” You sound desperate and unloved. Delete. “You do you, boo.” Too casual and oddly dismissive. Delete.
Discomfort tortures each word. I’d rather keep the sticky mess to myself anyway. It’s personal.
Yet sitting in unwritten silence isn’t the solution. I should write.
But I don’t know how to get someone to understand or care about the rumbles that go through my head. I don’t know how to write.
Say what you want. Say what you feel. Just give the guy your damn regards. “Regards.” Yes, just regards.
Regardless…I’ve decided to write.
The sticky mess of my mind tells me to write. It tells me to be uncomfortable. It tells me to buck the opinions of those who don’t like peanut butter.
I’ll write emails. I’ll write essays. I’ll write curriculum. I’ll write blog posts. I just need to write.
I just wrote this.
With sincerest regards.