I have come to see that writing has become a way for me to be in the deepest conversation with myself while also sensing the hovering presence of another. I donβt know who that other is β perhaps a gentle future reader. This personal conversation feels forbidden, in a way, given my work in journalism. But I find treasures in my thoughts and feelings, and I rush to put them on the page. Then a story takes shape and tells me something about life, about ideas, about the world. Yes, itβs cathartic and yes, itβs also an outward conversation.
Writing as a way to converse with yourself
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