Thinking this morning about my desire to write. It’s always there, right behind my eyeballs — a distracting alternative to my to-do list. All the important, return-positive things I should be doing. And this particular morning, this phrase popped into mind unbidden.

Writing is how the soul speaks.

I do all kinds of speaking in my day to day. My mouth articulates what’s inside me. All too often though, it’s my desires or my insecurities or my stomach or my pride speaking through the words I say aloud.

Not to say you wouldn’t be able to see all my folly spread across a page of my writing, of course. Nor will I posit that one never utters audibly the deep musings of the soul. But I can say for sure that too often, all my whims and mundanities and trivial pursuits fill the airtime around me as I walk my days. And my soul sits silent, the introspective attendee at a dinner party, full of helpful things to contribute but not finding the opening to do so. I’d like to help my soul speak more.

-LS