My mind is often packed with thoughts.
I think about the past, the present and the future. I think about friends, relatives, neighbors and strangers. I think about myself – a lot. I think about my deceased wife. I think about dying. I think about politics. I think about philosophy. I think about exercise. I think about my dogs. I think about the pets I used to own. I think about home repair projects. I think about money. I think about healthcare. I think about my hernia. I think about where I used to work. I think about dead people. I think about music. I think about playing the drums. I think about shopping. I think about food.
Writing this blog helps me to gain insight into what I’m thinking.
Better yet, it empties my head of this swirling miasma and frees me up to think about fewer things.
Solutions come to me when I am writing. Problems that were once baffling go away. Answers become starkly obvious.
Before starting this blog in 2016, I never enjoyed writing. I was a list maker, but not someone who shared his innermost thoughts in writing.
I struggled in school to write journals. I never found them useful or interesting.
It’s strange that this late in life, I’ve come to find writing so essential and rewarding.