Recently, a friend shared that he was missing the intimacy of self expression. Those four words strung together in a way I had not heard before, explained why writing is beneficial. Somehow, even­ if I had come across them in the past, today, they took on an expansive meaning. His words unravelled an unsolved puzzle of mine.

Since early childhood my urge to write has been relentless. Unfortunately, I have ever felt undeserving of this repeated plaguing. Currently, the accumulative belittling of these yearnings has shackled my response and I have stopped honouring the inspiration. Doubt about my writing’s merit has slowly strangled my writing into sporadic silence.

Since I do not consider myself a proficient writer or thinker, I could not reconcile my insistent hunger of transferring thoughts onto virgin white spaces. That while I wrote, I derived pleasure was not enough to quieten the nagging question, is this not a waste of time? Really, I would tell myself, what is this need for recording and sharing my thoughts? To make sense of it, I self-published a book consisting of my writings and art. Out of kindness, a few friends bought the book however, eventually, I had to face a disappointing truth. People were not interested in my creation. I knew that if the book had been intriguing, there would have been more orders.

It was a coffee table book destined to wait where anyone might pick it up and peruse it. As I witnessed my friends place their book on their tables my hopes for some forthcoming reaction were disappointed. My beautiful beloved book was not wanted.


The result was that my writing faded away. It had been offered and no one wanted it so what was the point of writing.

This morning, however, here was a gift, a freedom – an answer.

My friend’s phrase, the intimacy of self expression, cleared my impotency away. I realized that the intimacy of self expression through writing fills the holes the world pierces in me. It helps me awaken my creativity so that I can better process life’s spontaneous combustion. It doesn’t matter that when I share it people are not interested. Above it all, it is the intimacy of self expression that is meaningful and relevant. In addition, I faced a stark truth in myself. I was willing to give up that precious intimacy because others had not validated my writing.

Through writing I offer my wounded self a sanctuary where an intimacy heals the damage being human creates. But wait, I knew this, didn’t i? Have I not come to this realization before?

Yes, I have.

Here’s hoping that this time, I will not forget my writing’s purpose. Nevertheless, thank you my friend Joe, I couldn’t be reminded unless you had chosen to express this truth about yourself. Our thoughts shared reveal their purpose as together we each remind each other of what’s important.

It begins with an acceptance of an invitation from a love beckoning us to itself. A love that requires nothing more than that we benefit from using it.