I wrote a book of poetry that helped five people. Mostly just me.
It’s the most pure thing I’ve ever done. The writing most un-aimed at persuading. I wasn’t trying to convince anyone. I wasn’t trying to sell them on the idea that life is good and beautiful. It was just writing. It may have saved my life in a time when I needed to write things for no reason.
I was so scared of having a reason.
As a writer I am constantly battling that. I don’t want to pretend I know the answers to life but I want to help. Suggesting things to people can help.
I get emails from people all the time. I love it. People who see my ThoughtCatalog posts will email me and say, “Things are a little bit less of a mess today. Thank you.”
It feels good. I believe in the invisible legacy of making people’s lives better so that they can make other people’s lives better.
Maybe talking about my own depression and the times I thought the best choice was to kill myself will help others in that position.
It does help. Some people, in some ways.
For a little while.
Every time they tell me to write more. I need to give more.
And I’m happy to, I love writing. So here.
The other day my friend and I launched a course that is helping people start importing businesses.
It’s technical, the farthest thing from a poem possible.
It’s helping though.
There are thousands of people taking action in the real world to shift their life because of this information.
Hundreds of people are paying to get even more information from us on how to do this.
Teenagers are using these skills to help supplement their single parent’s income. People stuck in their shitty job are using these skills to buy themselves freedom.
That’s real change. More change than my poems ever made in someone’s life.
There’s a place for poetry, art, and pure voice. A big, beautiful place.
But we shouldn’t discount the power of the physical world. Of being able to afford freedom to do what we want in life. Of well-directed, massive action.
The mind is a wonderful place, I spend a lot of time there.
Maybe it’s not as exclusively important as it (and philosophers) would have us think, though.