I’ve always been an inquisitive person. I’m fascinated with the machinations of the mind and the motivations of people. I love observing people talk or write about who they are, what they are passionate about, when they had their major epiphanies, and where their lives have taken them, but what I love most is the Why.

The Why is a reflective question. It directly asks you what your motivation is. It asks you to admit your selfishness, your ulterior motives, your humility, and your ego.

‘Why’ asks you to look beyond a date, a time, a person, or a place.


‘Why’ is a revelation of purpose.

Today I read Mel’s post about dreams.

Ben asked me another poignant question then (it was truly the night for them): “Why do you write?” And so I answered honestly, perhaps the most honestly I ever have. I write so that there will be evidence that I existed. I write so that there will be a record that I lived, breathed, felt, thought, learned, created. However selfish it may sound, I write so that there will be proof of me. And maybe, just maybe, someone will find comfort, help, or encouragement from what I have experienced and shared.

I love this answer, because it’s a raw and honest response and I write for almost all of the same exact reasons and then some.

I write because I can’t process feelings without extracting and examining and rearranging them until they make sense.

I write because I am a cartographer of my own spirit.

And if someone wants to know me, I want to be able to show them a map to the best and worst parts of who I am.

I write to invite you in.

I write in hopes that you see some of yourself in me, or maybe see me in you, or maybe see a glimmer of something you love in someone else but can’t quite reconcile.

I may not be consistent in my published work. I may never be paid well to write full time. My writing may never be known by anyone beyond those of you reading this right now.

But I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be paid.

I write to give myself courage to face the day, to leave a mark, to know I left a string of words behind that some day might mean something to someone, because in a moment, they meant the world to me.

I will write always.


Because I want to be seen. If I didn’t write, I fear I would cease to exist.



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