Sometimes I wonder if I am really stupid or naive. I probably don’t want the answer to either of those questions. I also wonder if writing some things and posting them here on this blog and on Twitter/Mastodon makes me audacious, bold because I think that I have anything new/interesting to share with the world. Maybe some thoughts should’ve stayed in my head, should’ve stayed in a Google Doc, never to be posted, but that doesn’t seem right. I feel a sense of purpose, that I have a unique voice from my own individual perspective, as a product of my circumstances of course, but that only adds flavor and doesn’t take anything away from it. Keeping things to blog about separate from things that should stay in a private journal is easy, but it can sometimes be a little difficult or tricky.

I suppose I am no better than that saying about how every man wants to be a writer – I guess the joke is that men can be full of themselves and have the audacity or obtuseness to think they are clever or insightful and so write rubbish and display it saying “Oh, I’m so smart.” This applies to me, but nobody told me it would be so fun! Thinking about writing versus actually spending thought on refining and iterating towards a polished idea. It’s easier to think about thinking, or write about writing, rather than the very act itself – to think and to write substance that is not a meta analysis but rather something actually new and worthwhile to tell. This is something I need to get over, and I suppose that’s why I write – to get over it more quickly.