I feel the need to facilitate empathy.
I’ve been writing my second novel, poems to fill out my first book of poetry, the first substantial section of my first book-length memoir, writing and writing like I have limited time on this earth, which I do, though thankfully no one has put an exact clock on the remainder of my time. I feel a sense of urgency to delve deep enough inside the dreams of all three genres, hoping to share a connection with someone who needs to know they’re not alone. I feel the need to facilitate empathy.
And so I’m on a mission, a man possessed. I’m not looking for fame or even money (though it would be nice not to have to scrape by for a change). I’m on a mission to send these books out into the world, your world, and widen someone’s fishbowl, maybe even spark the awareness that they’ve just swum another lap and might pause this time around and look in the mirror and see their reflection is beautiful or stronger than they’d been led to believe.
It’s so easy (so human) to forget. We were all once a baby. A perfect little alien who had endless potential. It’s so easy to fall into the quicksand of adult thinking, to believe the consensus view that we are the summary of our flaws and that we have more flaws than others do. But we are not defined by these perceived imperfections; we are not meant to drown. No, we are meant to reach out to the drowning and remind them that the water actually is shallow enough to stand. I am doing my best to share pain and struggle and find the threads of light that when woven together blaze a path to hope. I am trying to share what it feels like to be human.