If you’ve spent any time with me, you may know I’m not a grand storyteller. I can’t elaborate the subtle intricacies of how x happened at y. I’m usually to the point. There’s no build up or climax, as it’s usually just a statement of facts (arguing with me in person isn’t any fun, either).
Writing fills the gaps. It allows me to verbalize the things I can’t say in the moment. It gives me an outlet for all those funny details I missed when explaining how I learned that making a clam-shaped figure with my hands was not the appropriate way to ask for a to-go box.
Writing is beautiful. There’s an endless supply of adjectives, adverbs, and nouns at my disposal. I can reference facts and figures. There are paragraphs, lists, chapters, outlines, etc. It can empower me to do any number of things, such as:
- Tell a personal story
- Relay important news
- Teach a new concept
- Evoke an emotion
- Argue a point cohesively
- Code a program(!)
Writing gives me freedom. There are some words better left unsaid. Maybe those words are best left written. I can share those words with whomever I want to, be it myself, friends, or the world.
Writing gives me time to think. Time to remember the things I may have forgotten. Time to write the words I meant to, instead of saying the ones I didn’t mean to. It gives me a freedom I might not have in a split second in time: with it I can travel anywhere in time and space. Conversely, I can travel nowhen or nowhere at all.
Most importantly, writing is…
…timeless.