Aubreythinksthat...

By now I should be changing my description from 'writer' to former writer or perhaps has-been writer. I have not written something decent in ages, just a hodge podge of passing thoughts, insubstantial randomness, rants, and an abysmal slew of nothingness. Just as you cannot call a daydreamer an 'artist', one cannot be called a writer without having written anything. The distinction between 'writer' and 'blogger' is an even more complex, if not discriminating topic. I have stagnated. And in that stagnation, I'm afraid I may have missed a lot of opportunities, not just to write, or to share, but to understand my thinking process, to see how I may or may not have progressed, how my values have evolved, how my perspectives have changed, to make sense of my life in a way that the compendium of my present self would not allow.

I believe that among the many art forms, writing has to be the most accessible; because words themselves were created out of the necessity to communicate. But somehow, I feel like I have made that an excuse to justify why not writing is better than being misunderstood, or worst, not understood at all. Was it plain hubris at work? Am I speaking to the wrong audience? Is it sloth masquerading as esotericism? Or am I just a bad writer? The most ironic comment I have ever received is being told that I was a good writer, because they did not understand a thing of what I said.

The freedom to write does not guarantee coming through with your message. As for me, I have not clarified whether I am writing for myself, for an audience, for posterity, or for art's sake. All I know is I want to feel less alone. I want to feel that life is a shared experience. I want to be understood. I do not desire to alienate, but I would not want to compromise either. The coming posts would be more or less like this, I hope not in the same breadth of vagueness, but more of wild-ruminating types. Welcome to aubreythinksthat!