Satisfaction

I wanted to write this post yesterday. Sunday night stress is starting to creep in but...

For the first time in a long time, I feel satisfied.

I learned how to read again. Reading calms me. It slows me down. It helps me breath.

I have entered a different post-infatuation stage. The self-doubt and longing is still there, but I am more confident in my ability to control the situation. Instead of looking for flaws to eliminate the infatuation, I am trying to justify it. I am not ignoring flaws, but I am not concentrating on them either.

I am taking a chance.

A reader was nice enough to compliment me. I am honest enough with myself to know that I am not a good writer. But I am improving.

All (good) writing is personal. But by writing in public, the author accepts a social responsibility. As McCloskey says in The Writing of Economics, "the reader is sovereign."

My goal is to make the reader think. I want to relay my thoughts and feelings, but I want readers to look inside themselves. I want them to agree, disagree, and ask why. I want them to feel.

Chekhov said it best, "My goal is...to paint life in its true aspects, and to show how far this life falls short of the ideal life."

I am no Chekhov. But this weekend I feel satisfied and that is good enough.