Why do I write? Do I write for me? Or do I write for others? Perhaps it’s a combination of both. I’d like to say I write to express myself, but honestly I express myself much better verbally. I’d love to have the ability to write my subconscious thoughts. But they dart in and out of my mind so quickly by the time I start to write them down something else takes their place. I used to say I’m a thinker. At one time I considered myself a contemplator. But these are just labels. And at a time in my life when I’m attempting to eliminate labels from my consciousness any name I choose creates a paradox. I’ve been reading Eckhart Tolle and his message of always being in the “now” is where always strive to be. So why do I write? Why ask why right? I’m writing now because it’s what I’m doing. My thought was to mention that I was sitting at work right now and there’s a song ringing through the speaker in my office. But even as I was thinking that, I thought, that’s silly who cares? Now I hear one of my coworkers clicking away at their keyboard. And I think, what are they typing? And now the printer by my desk is spitting out something. It’s probably whatever my coworker was just typing. And just now as I was rereading what I typed my mind said, “Shouldn’t you be working?” J

As I feel the warmth of my laptop beneath the base of my hands, the little tingle on the back of my head—I just scratched it–, the voice of my coworker on the phone, the laughter in the hallways, I am living right now. I’m not judging any of the input. It just is. And now was.

I write because…I write. I am because I am. I’m at peace with that.