I promised myself I would write. I owe it to myself to keep my promise.
Joshunda’s sentiment to write as exploration and truth-telling, and ultimately as an expression of self-love, resonated with me months ago. That afternoon we talked love, pets, career, life, all in no particular order. Mostly we talked writing.
We talked writing as inquiry. As work. As joy. As required. As radical.
I hear her voice whenever I talk myself out of writing.
When I procrastinate until “later today.” Or when I say “tomorrow.” I hear her voice when brilliance flashes at inconvenient moments, and I neglect to take note. When I resist. When I do anything other than sit and listen to the ideas clamoring to be revealed, or prodded, refuted, developed, acknowledged…I hear her voice.
Today, I am listening. And writing.