I stopped writing about my family because I didn’t want my mother to scold me.
I stopped writing about boys and our relationships because I didn’t want to jinx anything.
I stopped writing about work because I didn’t want to get in trouble.
I stopped writing about the weather because there are only so many times you can say it’s hot it’s cold it’s raining it’s beautiful today and I’m so happy to be alive.
I stopped writing about books because I stopped reading and I stopped writing about music because I stopped going to shows.
I stopped writing.
Now, when I watch Rama rush to the keyboard after reading a chapter of Bird by Bird, when I come across a story that makes me laugh or cry, when I dive into the archives of this site, I miss it. I miss the voice in my head narrating my life like a movie. I miss the 2am surge of words that came tumbling from my fingertips.
I am feeling a little braver, now. A little wiser, too. I think maybe, just maybe, I am ready to tell the stories that have been sitting in my heart. I know that I at least need to try.