“If you have young friends who aspire to become writers, the second greatest favor you can do them is to present them with copies of ‘The Elements of Style’. The first greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they’re happy” Dorothy Parker

I remember the first post I ever wrote. It was about my childhood Christmas memories with my cousin Lijo. It recounted our adventures, philosophical discussions, and conclusions about Christmas.

I was anxious about writing it. I remember reading the post for the thousandth time, the anxiety over how the world will react to my thoughts, and can still feel the drumming heartbeat while I clicked ‘Publish’.

That was seven years ago.

I still keep writing. But I hope no one asks me why. Because honestly, I don’t know.

However, when my blogging anniversary came up on December 21st, I dared to ask this question. I pondered over it for days. Now I have some hypotheses.

Maybe it’s because of my unyielding grit. I hate to quit. Even when only a very dedicated small group reads my work, I keep at it. They may wish that I would stop but are too polite to say it to me. So I persist in pestering them.

Maybe the growth is intoxicating for me. With each topic, I feel the research enriches my knowledge, the writing polishes my skill, and the introspection gives better self-realization. It is elevating.

OR

I might be a genius. I record my genius thoughts in a humble blog, hoping that future generations might stumble upon them. They will stand in awe at the treasure and hail me—possibly even make me a posthumous meme.

Just a probability in an infinite multiverse.

Whatever the cause, writing is not easy. In fact, it is one of my most grueling daily tasks, second only to my karate practice session. But the ache is the same; one in the body, the other in the heart.

Writing, I feel, is like riding an untamed horse. The journey is rough, uncontrolled, and exhilarating. It strides off the road and gallops to the unfamiliar mountains and valleys of thought. Sometimes, you cannot help but admire its beauty and novelty, sometimes you tremble with fear.

Yes, the fear is real.

The fear that I share too much. To make the blog more relatable, I share my experiences; some painful, some pleasant. Exposing them makes me feel vulnerable. Any stranger can skim through and see my naked self, warts and all.

The fear of being an imposter. Sometimes I hear a voice asking me what authority I have to write about all these. I am not a philosopher, psychologist, or spiritual guru to advise my readers. Then why pretend to be one?

The fear of getting caught or manipulated. I have had nightmares of the day a psychoanalyst reads between my lines and diagnoses that I am a psychopath. I might end up waking up in a mental asylum. Or the day Artificial Intelligence reads all my blogs in a billionth of a second and strategizes to manipulate me psychologically. I might dance for the invisible digital hands of an AI puppeteer overlord. I dread that dance.

But hey, it’s not all bad.

My wife says she was captivated by my blog. It was one major factor that influenced her decision to marry me. Makes sense. Otherwise, why would an accomplished scientist with a promising future choose to live with me? Lucky me, unlucky her.

Also, the blog acted as a bridge between my careers. When I decided to not become an electrical engineer and become a technical writer, it made the transition easy. The posts created a portfolio that attested to my writing skills. Some employers fell for it.

Ultimately, the emotional factor overshadows everything else. The pure joy of publishing a post after the enervating weeks of research, thought, and writing cannot be put into words. That itself is the best reason to write.

But I still feel my heart drumming when I move my pointer towards the ‘Publish’ button.

Thank you for reading. What are your reasons to write? Share them in the comments.

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