Well Intentioned, No Action
I've been thinking about writing what I know for years. When I first got the idea, it was right after my daughter was born. In practice, I've written few words, but thought about it often.
It started with a recognition of what's missing. It struck me how little I knew about my parents, and how I knew even less about their parents. I knew even less about their inner lives. How did they think, and why? What motivated them? There must be valuable knowledge and lessons trapped in there. But I had no access, and wanted it. Even asking them directly hasn't given me the answers I wanted.
Occasionally my kids say or do something and I think "I need to write about that, one day they'll thank me." I mostly don't, letting it be a fleeting thought instead of an intentional action.
But every now and then the pressure inside builds. Like a boiling pot with the lid tightly secured, starting to shake as the steam occupies the empty space inside.
But the pressure isn't only due to inaction. There's a different pressure: the kind I put on myself. To write something that people want to read. That is clever, and wise. That is groundbreaking despite borrowing from a thousand other sources and experiences. While I've wanted to write, I've also felt a need for recognition that the writing is good, and worthy of reading. Worthy of someone's time.
Upon reflection, if my parents had written this, I'd read it. It would be worth my time.
The first thought was well-intentioned, but no action was taken.
This blog is me taking the lid off. This first post is a step in that direction.