I Think, Therefore I am. *

Summary

The provided text is a reflective and poetic piece on the introspective journey of a writer, who finds solace in solitude and the act of creation, while also acknowledging the interconnectedness of love and community in the writing process.

Abstract

The text opens with a philosophical nod to René Descartes, setting a contemplative tone. It delves into the writer's introspective process, describing a detachment from worldly distractions in favor of a deeper connection with the senses and the natural world. The writer embraces a range of emotions, from the comfort of a fireside to the melancholy of falling snow, and the unbridled joy of a child's curiosity. The narrative emphasizes the importance of taking steps into the unknown, suggesting that the act of writing is akin to an adventure. It also touches on the theme of love, both in the act of creation and in the acknowledgment of a community of peers and influencers. The piece concludes with a personal note, inviting engagement and respecting individual preferences regarding participation in the tagging process, which is a common social media interaction.

Opinions

The writer values the introspective and imaginative aspects of writing, viewing it as a form of escape into "strange, complicated adventures."
There is a clear appreciation for the natural environment and its elements, which serve as a sanctuary and source of inspiration.
The writer believes in the power of love and community, emphasizing that life is enriched by loving and connecting with others.
The act of writing is likened to a game of tag, suggesting a playful and interactive view of the creative process.
The writer is considerate of others' boundaries and preferences, offering the option to opt out of being tagged in social media interactions.

René Descartes’

Anyone who knows the trepidation of a looking at a blank page also understands there is often time to dream. I’m very aware of the writer that resides in my head — without ever being afraid of him — and sometimes will follow him into strange, complicated adventures.

When I sit down at my desk, I’m detached from earthly feelings, political exuberance, cable television, and my American Express account.

I exist momentarily among the stir of birds, dunes and sea grass, the fragrance of warm bedsheets, the lighthouse beacon, and sailors hunkering down.

I’m comfortable by the fireplace, sitting in faded furniture, and letting sadness settle on my shoulders like falling snow.

The wind will often be rude, the rain stabbing, and the sky absorbing to a child running, curious, fences leapt over, others slid under, violating boundaries for the sheer joy of running.

A writer never knows what lies over the hill unless he puts one foot in front of the other. There's no loneliness in not being loved, only in not loving, and life is made so much easier when we join hands.

The travel writer travels, the poet ponders, but me, I like to play tag.

You’re it. I love you.