Writing on the wall

There's something about written words that make them very powerful.  Perhaps it's because they are more "permanent" than spoken words.  Perhaps it's because they take more time and effort.

I know that I am much more sensitive to written words than to the things I hear.  I learn better from reading a book than listening to a lecture.  I often find more meaning in things I read than things I hear.  Written words give you the chance to read between the lines.  I am also much more of a writer than a talker.  I've never been a good speaker, whether it's academically, professionally or personally.  Me on paper is probably very different from me in person.

I started writing many years ago, simply out of the need to vent and the desire to write down thoughts.  Keeping a physical copy was too dangerous, as I've learned from experience.  This, blogging, was a better choice.  It's out there, but it's not.  It's recognizable if you've been following, but most will never know about it and never know if they did.

Years ago, because of things I wrote, I attracted the attention of a stranger.  This stranger became my loyal reader and eventually started leaving comments.  The comments were thoughtful and clever, but most importantly, thought provoking and inspiring.  It didn't take long for me to figure out who the stranger was.  In a way, we started out as "penpals", and for the rest of however long we had together, writing was very much the way that we connected.  Writing got us through the times when we couldn't see each other.  Writing let out all those things that were too difficult to say in person.  Writing, so many times, brought us to tears.

But at the same time, words can be dangerous.  Written words have no tone and no explanations.  They are open to interpretation and your audience can easily interpret something entirely different from what you intended.  That, perhaps, has gotten me into trouble too many times.

Today, I had the opportunity to read a letter.  The letter was not for me, but I was given permission to read it.  The letter revealed a lot of things that I never knew about before.  It was touching, but also somewhat worrying.

It's amazing how much more people are willing to say in writing.  It's amazing how much more honest people are willing to be in writing.  I guess I already knew that, because that is exactly what I'm doing: writing the things I do(n't) want to talk about.

Why do I write?  In the beginning, it was to vent and remember things.  Then, at some point, it became a special way of communicating with a special person.  Now, I don't know anymore.  Perhaps I'm back to venting.  But, deep down, ultimately, I still hope that my anonymous reader will someday return.