Why Do It

O.K. Why do I keep writing when I’m sure no one reads this? If only to prove to myself I can. This has yet to become a regular occurance. In another irony of life, when my intentions are to publish an article on a regular basis, I have had the busiest few weeks in litterally decades! It seems that I’ve woken up to life and realized an entire generation has grown up while I’ve basically lived my life in a catatonic state of “what does it matter?” Except for my son, life had no meaning. He is now going to be 35 and doesn’t want any part of me. (THAT is a whole SERIES of Blogs!)

Why do it? Why do bakers bake? To create delctible eddibles. Why do artists paint? To express an inner part of themselves on canvas that no one else can see. Why do extreme runners run, or hikers hike? All these characters have one thing in common: a burning desire of . . . something they can’t explain.

This “something” can be found in each and every one of us. Believe me, if I can wake up from a 25 year “WHATEVER-you-want-to-call-it” anyone can find that “burning” within themselves. On disabilitly? You, too, have something to share. On meds for one reason or another? This, too, can be managed so you can find the “YOU” you’ve misplaced.

Confused? That’s as good a beginning as anything. EVERYONE has something special to give. A smile; a kind word; a listening ear. Not all of us are able to do the hikes and bikes; cakes and lakes; swirls and curls; but WE. ARE. ALL. SPECIAL. All of us in our own way. And don’t let anyone – and I mean ANYONE – tell you different. Not sister or brother, husband or wife, mother or father, son or daughter. What do they have to do with this? That’s another Blog entirely.

REMEMBER: YOU! ARE! SPECIAL!

Until next time,
Inge