Two quick thoughts this morning.
The first is that I miss being in dog world, and it’s weird to walk the streets early in the morning without Foster. I see all the dogs I used to see before, and all the same people walking them, and I feel like an outsider. I had so enjoyed being a part of this other world. I know that sensation will fade. But a walk just isn’t as much fun anymore right now. I feel lonely, and while of course there is a certain beauty in that loneliness, for the right kind of person (me, for example) it is a very sweet spot, the pleasure in the pain and all that jazz, but it had been nice to try something else for once.
The second thing I’ve been thinking/talking about lately (again, I know) is how I get to be the best version of myself in my writing. It feels like everyone around me has this very full and rich life, and they are capable of being good virtually all the time. They don’t necessarily need writing (or anything) to be their best. Their baseline is just goodness.
But I am an extremely flawed person. Like I just do so many things wrong. In my writing, though, I can be a good person. I can be compassionate and loving and make great things happen even in the middle of sadness. I can express joy and hope so clearly within my writing. In my real life, I am always saying the wrong thing. Or, I’m not quick-witted enough. I’m proabably just medium-speed-witted. Or maybe I just don’t know how I really feel about something until I write it down.
That all sounds depressing and self-loathing, but really it’s a pretty great thing. I have so much invested in my writing, and I have so much faith in my capacity to experience happiness through that medium, that I feel like I have the answer to a pretty big life question, even if that question is just: Why?
Recognizing that it is ok to feel lonely is important. Recognizing that you are imperfect is important. Figuring out a way to be the best version of yourself is, oh my god is it ever, important.
