I wonder if a baby bird feels fear the very first time it jumps from the branch in flight, testing its wings? Or does it know that this is what its wings are for, and never doubts the power of the wind to take it where it intends to go?
I wonder if dolphins worry that when it goes deep under the oceans surface, whether there will be air to breath once they come back to the top of the water? Or does it trust that no matter how dark the waters get, there is light and life waiting up above?
Do ants wonder why they must work together to survive? Or do they innately know that the job they have on the ground is essential and equally important as all the others?
Does a horse take death personally and wonder why it gets sick way before most humans, and that it must eventually leave this world?
Do roses that were once in full bloom, bright and vibrant, get resentful at the other infant roses in the same bush ready to open to the light, as it browns and shrivels up? Or does it know it must die for others that are part of the same whole to live?
I wonder why I worry about a life so easily set in front of me, seemly dark at times, when God lights my path every step of the way..
I’m a writer.
Because I say I am.
Because I believe I am.
Because I write.
Because I have something to say and the best way I know how to say it is to write it.
Not that I’m not good with being verbal, because I am.
But I’m better when I write it down.
I don’t need to be paid for it.
I do it for free.
I do it because I have a passion for it.
Because I love it.
Because I know I’m supposed to.
I write about what I know.
And what do I know better than my own experience?
What could I possibly know better than the story of my life?
What do I know better than what happens all around me?
I write about what needs to be said.
I write the truth.
Harsh at times, loving at times, confusing at times, but always the truth.
Love it, hate it, accept it or deny it.
Just know this, words hold a lot of power, written or spoken, texted or tweeted.
And these words are written just for you.
I see you.
I see your soul.
I see past the mask and the character, the shortcomings and all of your humanness.
I see myself in you, and you in me.
We are the same you and I, just decorated a bit differently on the outside.
I know you.
Maybe better than YOU know you.
And you’re very much okay.
It’s all going to be okay.
What a better way to remind you, just in case you forget, than etching these written words in this very place, to be part of history, so when you forget you can re-read them.
You can come back to find these very words.
By a writer.