Why I write

On a typical day, I spend at least an hour walking. It's how I prefer to get around if at all possible. When I wander, my mind follows suit.

Today I wondered the most fundamental question: why do I write?

The act of writing for me is not a necessary thing. As is evident from the gaps in time between posts, I've gone many moons and fortnights without putting pen to paper, fingers to keys, that is outside of my workplace. It's always after these long periods that I start to doubt my pursuit of a career so entrenched in writing. "Do I really need  it?" I ask myself. It's a love-hate relationship, but the honest truth is no, I don't need it, but it makes me a much more observant and enjoyable human being. Or at least I presume so because I like life much better when I write about it. 

When you write about something, someone, somewhere, it becomes more important, funny, valuable. The annoying coworker who insists on smoking a pack of cigarettes and then leaning over your shoulder to engage in Seinfeld-calibre close-talking is immediately irritating, but in retrospect, the act seems trivial, perhaps even funny. What a fantastic character that person would make in a novel, screenplay or whatever the case. 

And what's the story with the man parked at MacDonald's eating his take-out alone in his car, as if eating it inside the restaurant or at home alone is somehow a more embarrassing option? And I shouldn't say "man"; I should say "men and women", because there are usually both in plural. Sometimes I count them to satisfy my obsessive compulsion, but I never really thought about them much until I wrote them down. Out of sad-funny actions comes inspiration. They have no idea.

My days are full of speed bumps like this. By writing about them, I've just telephoned my brain as opposed to sending it an email. Nourished with words, the lazy speed bumps, uniform in size and distance between, become more like mental potholes. And the thing about potholes, despite the havoc they wreak on automobiles, is that they are unpredictable and come in all sizes and shapes, like great thoughts and the pieces of writing that sometimes accompany them. 

And you always remember when you hit a big pothole.