As I ratchet up my commitment to keeping the ideas flowing, know you’ll get some weird stuff. Yesterday was a prime example. It may have left you confused or had no discernible relative examples to you, but some people got it. Sometimes in life, as much as I hate to admit, it’s not about you. 

I started writing in earnest about a year and a half ago. Since then I’ve babbled and meandered through my childhood, through depression, ADD, music, Nickelback, why I write, and mostly reminded you to not give up. To try again. To start. 

I’ve stayed mostly out of politics and hard topics as I think a lot of opinions on everything already exist. I’m also not willing to do the type of responsible research that goes with that type or of writing. It’s important to get things right. At 5 am. I am happy to just write, not necessarily write a piece for the Wall St. Journal. 

That’s not to say I haven’t stuck my foot in my mouth or made broad unsupported statements. If I were really apologetic about them, I’d go back and put links to them here. I’ll drink more coffee instead. 

It’s an interesting game. I’d say I write for me, but that can’t possibly be true. If so, I’d have notebooks full of writing that never saw the light of day. Reams of confessions and juicy secrets. Of nonsense and brevity, anger and  redemption. No. Make no mistakes. I write for us. 

Some think I should give myself a break. To ease up on the self loathing. They think that these posts are me calling out for help. Maybe. I’d like to think they are reminders to the reader that they aren’t alone. I’d like to think you could read and say “Man, that’s weird, I think that too.”  Not every post. Just some posts. That I’d made you think, consider and feel mostly better because of it through mental commiseration. 

I think letting others know that the things that ping pong around in their heads are okay. That they are mostly normal. That they aren’t as big as we think they are. I love to reduce and simply those things through nostalgia and through snark. 

Finally, the launching of thoughts into the world slows the mornings for me. A brief lowering of the heart rate after the jar of the alarm. A mental deep breath.  To be cliche, a short stop to give myself a chance to seize the day. 

So yeah. Some days you’ll get 846 words on me trying to explain how my brain processes feelings into lyrics and music as I’m trying to write a song, and some days I’ll trash Nickelback again. 

Just remember, Nickelback has sold 50 million albums. 

Some of y’all gotta be buying them. 

#hugsandhi5s