Why Write?

According to the Merriam Webster dictionary:

Definition of SYNESTHESIA

1: a concomitant sensation; especially: a subjective sensation or image of a sense (as a color) other than the one (as of sound) being stimulated

2: the condition marked by the experience of such sensations

— syn-es-thet-ic an adjective

Origin of SYNESTHESIA

New Latin, from syn- + -esthesia (as in anesthesia)

First Known Use: circa 1891

Medical Definition of SYNESTHESIA

: a concomitant sensation and especially a subjective sensation or image of a sense (as a color) other than the one (as of a sound) being stimulated; also : the condition marked by the experience of such a sensation

Variants of SYNESTHESIA

syn-es-the-sia or chiefly British syn-aes-the-sia

Definition of SYNESTHETE

: a person affected with synesthesia

First Known Use of SYNESTHETE

1985

Medical Definition of SYNESTHETE

: one who experiences synesthesia <for a synesthete, a voice can spark a color or a taste as well as a sound—Psychology Today>

I agonized about what my first post would be. This blog was created in late October of 2014, and it remained unused but certainly not abandoned. It was in the back of my head — a literal pull against my scalp, right above the base of my neck. It was with me constantly, whenever I saw something or felt something that I wanted to share. But there were obstacles in my path, most notable of which was an incessant sense of propriety. 

Doesn't a blog have to have some sort of theme? Doesn't it provide its readers with something more than just the musings of its writer? What then, do I have to offer? Who would want to read about what I feel, what I see, and what I think?

These were the questions that ate me up and prevented me from writing anything. These questions have not been completely answered, nor has the anxiety they cause been put to rest. But everything was pushed to the forefront, ready-or-not, when I article I wrote was selected to be published in the third installment of Bella Grace. The opportunity to not only have my words published and shared, but also to share a link to my blog — empty as it was — could not be passed up. 

I still managed to postpone the inevitable, even after setting a deadline for myself — which was that I would begin to write in January. My article was selected back in December of 2014, and I knew the magazine would be released in March of 2015. It was my very own New Year's resolution. Then, after writing a blog post for Stampington & Company all about Artful Resolutions, I felt the full weight of my forced endeavors, and I let them go.

Art, which I consider writing to be, should not be forced and it most certainly should not be given a deadline. It was presumptuous of me to assume that I could make myself write — much less, write something worth reading, when my mind, heart, and soul were not in the same place. Oddly enough, it was the sudden onset of the early  morning fog, which arrived late this winter, that finally ended my writer's block.

Waking up to write early in the morning so that I could see the wisps of fog blurring the sharp edges of the trees outside the window is what my soul was craving for longer than I care to admit. There are hills out there, beyond the rectangle window besides my desk, but they're hidden behind a blanket of white. The fog makes the world smaller, but it also fills it with endless possibility. These white days, these morning writing sessions, they focus my attention on what I can see and they make me wonder about what I can't. 

Like I said in my article for Bella Grace: 

"There's a divinity to each and every one of us that often gets pushed aside or flat out ignored. We're so hung up on the exterior, that we can't even see the value of our perspective. There is no one like you — your experience of the world is wholly unique."

Somehow, although I wrote the words, I hadn't fully applied them to myself.

I have a story to tell. It doesn't have a beginning that I can remember, and it doesn't have an end that I can foretell. It's the story of my perception of this magnificent world. It's the secrets that I've kept for a long time, like the fact that when I am happy — truly happy — there's a sudden burst of crisp, orange flavor that spreads across my tongue. Or when I feel deep emotional distress, my mind fills with searing white, and when I smell the exhaust fumes of a diesel fueled vehicle, I see green. I want to share the strange associations that my brain makes at the sound of names, and the fact that when I hear or see the number nine — I get a little giddy.

For a long time, I thought these associations were normal and common. When I realized they weren't I had an existential crisis. It was such an isolating feeling to know that my perception of the world was unique. How could I ever share, really share, my experiences when most people probably wouldn't be able to even understand the associations that my brain makes with colors, sounds, and tastes? The world is so beautiful, but I felt like I was in it alone.

It was liberating to finally reach that place of understanding and appreciation, when I comprehend that I wasn't the only different one — that in fact, everyone in the whole world is alone inside their own heads. This is what makes every perception so precious to me, and ultimately what has pushed me to start my blog. From literature to poetry, and painting to assemblage art, I see the world in a way that no one before me has seen it. That, in and of itself, is enough of a reason to share my journey, and to hopefully reach out and connect with others who are sharing theirs.