Not so different from Rainer Maria Rilke, the reason I write

I have been looking for something to do while the world is on an unlimited time break. 

The truth is, I am 35 years old and still very confused about what is “my purpose” if a purpose is something you are supposed to have.

I have been very afraid to try to know what it was too. Running away from your inner truth and distracting yourself (and complaining about your shortcomings) is one thing, but being honest to yourself and taking a shot at what makes you happy is another. It is much more difficult and scarier. One would think it would only be simple and logical to just “pursue your dreams” but we humans, are much more complex than that. Our path to self-love and accomplishment is sinuous and filled with traps of our own doing.

So for me, I think it is writing. I would say mostly writing about movies because it is the art form that moves me the most and books in second and every other form in third. I just need to express what I feel when I see a piece of art that touched me and I love trying to understand what the author was trying to say to its audience. It needs to be sincere, what they are saying, or else no one would ever feel anything in the presence of their art. That is what I am trying to do too: being sincere. It also means being vulnerable, which is terrifying.

It is very bizarre to have the need to express oneself while being petrified of anyone actually witnessing it. I guess I am not the only one in that case. I cannot really explain why though. I can explain the fear of rejection and the imposter syndrome and just the fear of not being good or relevant enough. How is my point of view helping the ocean of voices already making so much noise on the Internet? What I can’t explain is, why despite all this, I still need to write. For my own sake. 

I cannot really grasp why it is, but it is. Maybe I will know more later down the road.

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