The first time my voice atrophied, I decided to foster a cat. I was living alone during lockdown, and I didn’t realize our global retreat from the virus would become a de-facto silent retreat for me. After a few months, a short phone call would leave my vocal chords painfully inflamed. A grumpy purebred Persian cat became my creature companion and he coaxed my voice back into working order.
As normalcy crumbled, I realized how vital it was to acknowledge the shared moment with another being if only to say, “Here, kitty. It’s time for dinner.”
When the oceans of the internet started showing signs of acidification, my writing voice started to atrophy in turn. Posting to bleached timelines felt painfully pointless, so I pulled anchor and cast away from derelict profiles. Another de-facto vow of silence.
This time, I guess I’ll foster a blog.
My last vessel for words was a travelogue. It felt grounding to mindfully record the journey’s observations, sensations and epiphanies. The Journey of Life is mundane, but meaningful, and deserves to be recorded just the same.
To Journal is to pause and percolate. To roast the beans of experience so they release their fragrant truths, and grind them down into pithy phrases. To steep in reflection, and filter them into warm and energizing paragraphs. I offer these words to you, my friend.
I spent my third week of January planning and reconnecting. Looking out at the year’s horizon and deciding where I would aim my masthead. Calling out to my neighbouring ships to say, “Look! Isn’t everything messed up and weird? Isn’t it still somehow wonderful that we can be together as we face it?”
Whenever the winds of change are buffeting you too strongly, you are welcome aboard. Come say hi to my blog. I’ll pour you a warm post of prose and we can share a peaceful moment. You’re important and I’m glad you’re here. Thanks for helping me find my voice again.
