I take a risk when I write at night, especially when I write a personal piece.
I’m a different person at night. More willing to reveal. Less circumspect about sharing something that I’ll feel embarrassed about the next morning.
I feel some of that embarrassment right now.
Let’s consider the possible reasons:
1) I’m showing weakness.
2) My issues are small, especially in the current world crisis.
3) Instead of writing something of substance, I’m whining. I’m bloviating.
4) I fear that instead of connecting with you, I’m coming across as disturbed.
I mean, I am disturbed, but not in a way that I want people to fear. It’s more that I’m confused.
Youngest Master Weisman is lying with his head on my lap, watching Teen Titans Go!, as I write this. He’s happy. We’re healthy. I’m grateful. Why do I need anything else?
I want to matter outside these walls.
And this isn’t the answer.
So I’m embarrassed about what I’m doing here.
And yet, I’m going to continue.