From my notebooks, dated 12-12-90 :
Writing gives my life purpose.It makes everything I’ve been through seem worthwhile. It gives it meaning. It makes it look like I’ve reached this point for a reason.
Upon rereading this entry from my notebooks , I am struck by two things – the spiritual nature of this entry and my skepticism of myself. This is remarkable to me now, I guess, because if anything my feelings expressed in these sentences have only grown stronger over the years. If I permit myself to think of these thoughts as saplings in 1990, in 2016 they are , by the same token, oak trees of a behemoth nature. If I was going to rewrite it for my mindset today, in short, I would drop the skepticism. I would rewrite it like this :
Writing gives my life purpose. It makes everything I’ve been through meaningful because everything I have ever experienced is now source material for me to draw upon as I tell the story of my life. I have reached this point in my life for this very reason – to tell my story.
While I stop short of calling writing a religion, I will say that it is a calling to a way of life- one that I have answered and will answer every single day for the the rest of my life.