Why Write?

All my life I have loved to learn. I love to find out about things, all manner of things. If someone has a question, I am the first to run to Google to find the answer. I am an Explorer. At the same time, words do not come easily to me. Throughout school, I would avoid words. When we had to read a book and document our reading diligence, I read fables and fairy stories. Those were the shortest books I could find. If a composition was to be at least 100 words, I would write exactly 100 words. But without reading and vocabulary development, my writing always earned less than stellar grades. My writing brought insults from teachers and punishment from my parents. I just didn’t have the tools to put my thoughts onto paper. I didn’t have the words or the grammar.

So why take on an assignment to write an essay a week for a year. Why torture myself with finding the right words? Why? Why not continue in my relatively happy nonverbal life?

There are stories to be told. The older I get, the more I realize that books don’t always get it right. Where is my story? Where are my student’s stories? Where are my children’s stories? Now is the time for me to begin writing, to tackle the beast. I have so many stories that need to be told, that want to be told. I should at least try to capture some of them before it is too late.

I expect this will be a challenging, bumpy road. Many of the essays may not convey the right sentiment, use the right words, find the pocket. But hopefully, after a year of writing, I can find some diamonds in the rough. The reflection on my life, my heritage, and my legacy will guide me as I move towards the winter of my life. And maybe, just maybe, I will develop the tools that makes a good writer.