“Maybe I’m not who you thought I was. You may still like who I am. It doesn’t bother me if I’m not remembered. I never tried to be. I didn’t care if I was seen then, but I want to be noticed now; not by the world, but by souls that speak to mine. That’s a reason that I write, a reason that I share.
I’m not the best at small talk. I won’t stand out in a room where that’s what it takes to be noticed. I will never say a word. But give me a pen, I will show my soul.
Give me depth. Give me what illuminates a spirit with energy and wonder. I would rather listen and talk from there, even if only with a book or blank page, than sustain conversations to fill silence with stories that never stir the soul. Strike my light, and you will know.
I don’t mind if I’m not as others expect. It’s fun to be a surprise, and as I’m still learning myself, why would I expect another to know, already, who I am?
If someone likes what I write, to me, that’s a beginning point to start into a shared interest that would never be discovered if what I showed was never made known. To find depth, you have to give depth, and if it isn’t something you would say in a crowded room, write it and share it with the world. Every time it’s read, it’s a personal engagement with a single mind whether read once or a thousand times over.
Stories are starts to conversations I wish to have, with friends I hold or hope to meet. I share in a hope that myself, expressed, might raise a sense of sameness or resonance in someone else. Isn’t that what we’re all looking for, creation and sustainment of bonds beyond the superficial: something that holds and makes you feel.
Maybe I’m not who you thought I was, but I can show you who I am. Stories are my start. Maybe you’ll like him. Maybe you won’t, but he’s me either way.”