One of the things I find myself asking myself a lot in regards to this blog, and the majority of the writing that I do these days is a simple one - is there a point? When I was in Haiti, there was a point. I wanted to both chronicle my adventures for my own sake and be able to share them with people who might be interested in a first-person account of what life in Haiti was really like for an out-of-country aid worker. Seems pretty straight forward. I was only one of many volunteers at All Hands writing a blog. I assume most of us wrote them for similar reasons.
The thing is, I'm not in Haiti anymore. My life isn't quite as outwardly interesting as it was there. In some respects, I feel like I'm not really doing much these days to warrant writing, because I hate the idea of writing just to read my own thoughts. I have a hard time believing that I have enough to offer at this point to come from a place of simply being me, with nothing else to add some level of depth to whatever it is I'm trying to put out there. Yet, I also know that where I am right now - a strange limbo place - is, in fact, perhaps one of the most interesting places to try and explore, even if the majority of my time right now is spent sitting in a nondescript one-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood, on my computer or watching Netflix documentaries or listening to music and podcasts and Pimsleur French lessons. Again, on the surface, I'm not doing a whole hell of a lot, but underneath that, there's an abundance of invisible activity. I'm in my head more now than I've been in a long time. I've a lot to think about, or at least that's what I tell myself. I'm sure it is a place a lot of people can relate to. Maybe there's value in sharing it?
I don't know the answer really, and this isn't the first time I've struggled with this question. So then, enough writing for now. I don't think it's getting me any closer to clarity and I don't want to write circles simply to do it.