Why Do I Write ?
On being tortured by "Why?"
Why why is to be avoided at all cost
At five a.m. this morning I sat on my porch pondering on the itness of life. And I found myself mentally wandering, and wondering, about why, the why of life itself. The who, what, how, and when and where easy questions to answer. But the why was a little perplexing.
There doesn’t have to be a why
My wife has an easy way round this little conundrum. When she asks me to do something and I ask her “ Why ? “ She simply replies “ There doesn’t have to be a “ Why ? “ dismissing the question altogether, thereby avoiding having to give any type of explanation or justification for doing something, or anything for that matter.
But for me there has to be a why. Maybe it’s just that I have, and at times I am tortured by, an enquiring mind. I’m sure people who dismiss the why have a much more peaceful time navigating this thing that we call life.
Later on in the local park I sauntered over to a bench under a shady tree and still the why taunted me. For example, why do I write ? Well, I suppose the very simple answer to that question has to be because I enjoy doing it. Yes, but why ?
Because I can
Because I can ? Because I like to be creative ? Because I can earn money and pay some bills by writing, if I’m lucky. ? Yes they are all valid answers, and yet there is, I think, something more to this than at first appears. Something really quite profound in fact.
Perhaps I do it for the same reason we all do any activity, because it takes our mind off thinking too much about our all too human condition, the inevitability of our mortality, the existential existence we live whilst awaiting our ultimate demise, our being thrust unwillingly into the unknown, into the darkness of nothingness.
Whatever we do is merely a distraction to avoid wallowing in contemplating our own pitiful navel. By avoiding the why we avoid looking down into the abyss that constitutes life and seeing who and what we really are stripped bare, “ Oh the horror ! “
Oh the horror
In Conrad’s seminal novel the Heart of Darkness the central character Kurtz exclaims “ The horror, the horror!” Kurtz is, of course, making a judgement on his own life and actions, as well as upon humankind and imperialism. For me, “ The horror, the horror!” has a very personal resonance in terms of things that have happened to me, or to be more precise, things that have been malevolently visited upon me by malicious others. Such is the pluralism of perceived meaning.
Perhaps people like my wife avoid the why in order to avoid scrutinising their actions or life choices and being horrified by what they see. Perhaps that is why we should avoid why at all cost.
Writing is an adults toy
Now perhaps this is all getting a little too deep and personal. So one final fling as to why do I write, one throw of the dice which is far less laborious to comprehend, it’s because writing is a toy I like to play with. It is a toy I learnt to use as a young child and one I am happy to play with into adulthood. Writing is what you might call the gift that keeps on giving. And best of all, it is a gift I both give to myself and receive from myself.
Ah yes I hear you say, but why, why do you like to give and receive to and from yourself ? At which point I have to seek refuge in my wife’s answer, there doesn’t have to be a why. And that my friends brings me to the end of an early morning bout of intellectual gymnastics allowing me to now ponder upon the itness of the South American Hermit Crab and indeed a whole cornucopia of other life matters as is my want.
Dr Mehmet Yildiz Dr John Rose Dr Ludovic Gros MD Desiree Driesenaar Dr Michael Heng Dr. Manishi Pallavi R. Rangan PhD Terry Mansfield Tony Young, Jr. Denise Larkin Rebecca Stevens A. Lanu Pitan Britni Pepper Stuart Englander Geetika Sethi Sumera Rizwan Tree Langdon, CPA, CGA Henery X Agnes Laurens Joe Luca Thewriteyard Esther George Ntathu Allen