This was previously published on Home Made Dad.
I write, but I am not a writer.
That’s what I’ve always told myself anyway.
The difference to me is this: a writer writes as an end in itself, striving to craft the best prose he can.
But, that’s not what I do. I write to communicate a thought or an emotion or some information. I strive to create clear prose that is an accurate representation of what I think. Or, at least, what I suppose I think. Sometimes, I write in order to figure out what I think. There’s nothing like choosing words to make you to choose sides.
I write for the same reasons that I (used to) play guitar. It’s a therapeutic process for me. Singing a favourite song to the best of my ability just makes me feel good. Do I sound as good as it makes me feel? Does my prose read well? Who knows and who cares. I’m not writing to impress you as much as I am writing to impress myself.
My dad has recently started playing music again. He’s 70ish. As a young man, he played trumpet in school bands and love it. Somewhere along the way, he stopped. Life changed and got busier and he left playing music behind. Now, he seriously wonders: why did I stop? Why did I give up a passion from which I took so much joy?
Perhaps I’ll ask the same about playing guitar one day, or writing? Why did I stop? Just saying you don’t have the time isn’t much of a reason, now is it?
When I was a young kid, I loved riding my bike. I used to ride for hours and explore my neighbourhood and the ones around me. Then, for reasons that are not clear, I abandoned riding my bike in high-school student. One day in my 20s, my brother invited me to ride with him. He wanted to go some distance, maybe 80 or 100 km outside the city. I hadn’t ridden at that point for maybe a decade or more, but I agreed. That very bike trip turned on the cyclist in me for the next 20 years.
I love riding my bike today.
Never stop doing what you love.
Photo courtesy of the author