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Introverts too need social contact, and a lonely soul could do well to keep writing to connect with others and touch their soul, as I found out.
I am not the ‘life’ of any party.
I do not have a gang of friends to embark on adventures or make my day to day life seem like a sitcom.
I work from home so there isn’t any scope of making work friends, as well.
I love reading, writing, a bit of gardening, and spending time with animals…well, umm…also, surfing the internet mindlessly sometimes and feeling like a loser… none of this involves a raging crowd.
The kind of friendship I crave for involves an unconditional presence for each other, a deep bond that transcends time and distance, the absence of judgement, a compatibility of minds and a magical connection of souls. Yes, I might as well ask for an unicorn that would take me to space!
As a result of all these factors I do not have many people to talk to throughout the day. Make no mistake, I’m NOT someone who’d love to talk to another being all the time, but human beings are social animals after all and sometimes it becomes unbearable to bottle up my thoughts and carry on with daily life.
This is where a blog comes handy. Even though no one might listen to you so patiently, they will read your words if they’re good enough.
By being ‘good enough’ I mean something that connects with a part of someone’s soul in a quiet corner of the world.
For example, recently I wrote a piece on my mother. My mother’s colleague, who had lost her husband not long ago, made her daughter (who is 10 years old) read it. The little girl cried her heart out but according to her mother, she was also inspired. THIS. This is exactly what I’m looking for when I write a piece. Someone, somewhere feels that there’s another person on the planet who understands him or her.
I know writing is not the most lucrative profession in the world and yet, it is my calling. I cannot help but write, maybe it is this keen desire to connect more than anything that eggs me on.
Recently, a friend said that apparently book reviewers or literary agents make more money than a writer. He then went on to comment, “We should’ve rather chosen those jobs instead of being writers, you know?”
I replied, “You can be anything other than a writer, if money is what you’re looking for.”
Anne Patchett describes it perfectly in her book, This Is The Story Of A Happy Marriage: “Part of what I love about novels and dogs is that they are so beautifully oblivious to economic concerns. We serve them, and in return they thrive. It’s not their responsibility to figure out where the rent is coming from.”
Whenever I hear discussions around writing not being a profitable vocation my reply though cliched, is the perfect one for my case. I say, ‘Love is blind.’
Yes, that’s how I feel. I’m in love with writing. Writing chose me and now I am hers. Sure, we do have our days of tiffs and arguments. Sometimes, I won’t even visit her for days on end. But those are the days when like a dejected lover, I’d feel miserable. I’d be cranky. I’d be thinking that my life surely has no meaning left anymore. So, you see what I mean when I say that writing is my lover. Yes, I take her for granted and sometimes act like a prick, yes she acts equally pricey by not letting me near her sometimes, for reasons unknown. But at the end of the day, we are so much in love. (At least, I am. She has an inscrutable mind).
This post is not to imply that all writers are lonely and through their words they want to reach out to a small portion of the world that contains people who are weird enough to understand them and their quirks. What I’m trying to say is that I know there are people like me. And writing is our only hope of staying sane. Of staying human.
So, whenever you write something like, “I could relate to your writing so much.” Unbeknown to you, you are telling me, “Yes I do care. Keep writing.”
Published here earlier.
Image source: pixabay