I Just Wanted To Write Something

That’s it. That’s the whole story. I have no further point to the blog post other than just wanting to write something.

But I don’t know what to write.

That’s problematic for a blog post.

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I know what I want it to be. I want it to be inspiring. And witty. And funny—like, cackle-like-a-witch-until-someone-comes-to-check-on-you funny.

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I want it to surprise you. I want you to read it and go, “Oh. I didn’t know it was gonna go there! How intriguing! What an absolutely marvelous brain this young woman has.”

In this scenario, you’re British.

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I want it to be relevant. To enlighten you. For you to say, “Indubitably! That is exactly the kind of independently-owned blog post from an unknown writer that we need right now! Stupendous!”

You’re really leaning into the British thing.

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I want it to bring people together. I want it to give you the opportunity to just breathe, and release, and let go of your endless, torrential rain of anger that maliciously slips below the surface of your thoughts, waiting for you to be weakened by the slightest inconvenience and send you spiraling into a bottomless chasm of hopelessness and self-criticism.

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I want it to be insightful. I want it to give you the clarity you’ve been searching for after the last however many months, finally clueing you in to whatever problem you haven’t been able to solve. The code you haven’t cracked. The mind you just can’t understand, no matter how empathetic you try to be.

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I want it to give you hope. I want it to show you that no matter how dark the clouds seem or how red the sky turns, there will be an end to it. And that ending will be better than you thought possible, and once you get there you will not only say, but truly understand how it was all worth it.

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I want it to do you justice. I want it to acknowledge your struggle. Your intelligence. Your determination. Your survival. I want it to fill you with the sense of being seen. And I want it to make you feel like you aren’t alone.

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I want there to be a musical interlude here.

Because, you know, music makes everything better.

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I want it to make you stop. Put down your phone. Look out the window. Think peaceful, epiphanic thoughts. Take a walk. Watch some kids play. Pet a dog. Find a bench. Sit on it. Stare at a fountain or a pool or even a puddle. Watch the light move through the water and cast shimmering, fractured rays on the things around it. Feel the sun on your skin or the cool breeze pass your face. Smell the trees and the flowers and the grass. Listen for nothing in particular. Wait. Be. Then, when you’re ready, turn around and go home, and make yourself something delicious to drink.

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I want it to make you love me. And make you love yourself. And just sort of generally fill your heart with a sense that love is there and it is boundless and it is satisfying.

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And then, just at the end, before you stop reading, I want it to give you one last chuckle. One little laugh that reinforces that subconscious thought that it was good you woke up today.

After all, you’re British. You’ve got a lot to be happy about.