Daily Writing Is Keeping Me Tethered To This Ever-Changing World
It’s cold where I live. The city I live in is shut-down. And I reside by myself.
I don’t have a job other than writing and working on another book. I feel luckier than most.
On the good days, writing is a blessing. And on the bad days, it’s a pimple on my back that I can’t reach to scratch.
I need daily regimes, or I start to blur the days.
I wake up. I do some stretching and a round of breathing exercises, and then I journal.
And now I write on Medium, daily, as of a few days ago.
Like most of us on this platform, I want to make money. I want to engage with other writers and people who read my stuff.
But, it’s gone past that.
Now it’s an essential service.
I have this crazy notion that if something ever happened to me, my two daughters could look back at what I’ve written and get a better understanding of their father.
It’s not some kind of weird death wish or anything like that; it’s just that legacies are a strange thing these days.
My grandparent’s house felt like the family line. On both sides, and somehow just by the physical nature of their homes, it was continuing.
