One reason why I write.

Every writer has reasons for writing.

Some writers write to connect.

Some writers write to entertain.

And some writers write because they simply can’t do anything else.

Lately I’ve been thinking of all the reasons I write.

I’m not the kind of writer who knew he/she wanted to be a writer since childhood.

I wish I was as sure about anything in life as those writers seem to be about their callings as writers but sadly I’m not.

Since I didn’t have the conviction those writers were seemingly born with, I’ll admit, at times it’s made me feel like less of a writer.

Maybe I am.

Who knows. Well, those childhood writers probably do but I don’t.

However, I do know I benefit from writing in a way that only writing allows.

Until now, I’ve been unable to describe what that is.

And I don’t think I have the perfect description for it but it’s close.

To describe what I get from writing and why I’m willing to admit I can’t live happily without it, I must ask you to think about something I assume you’re familiar with.

If you’re reading this piece of writing, I assume you have the resources, or, at the very least, access to a smartphone, tablet, or computer to do so.

Using this assumption also allows me to assume you have a closet where you organize your clothes.

I’m able to make this assumption because I’ve never met an unclothed iPhone owner.

Now that I’ve made both of these assumptions, I’ll make one final assumption.

My final assumption is this: I assume you feel generally better when your closet is clean and organized and you can locate whatever you need whenever you need it without an issue than when you can’t.

Using all of these assumptions, I’ll make an attempt to explain one reason why I write.

When I take a segment of my day to sit down and write, I’m able to organize and select worthwhile thoughts about a particular subject or issue in a way I can’t without writing.

I can spend as much time as I want thinking about certain matters and never get anywhere.

But by writing, I can string together all the words floating around in my head that make up these thoughts and I can, most times, make sense of them.

By the time I’m done writing that day, I usually have a succinct position or a valuable lesson on a matter that I hadn’t had before I wrote about it.

And when I’m done my head feels the way I feel after I’ve taken the time to organize my closet.

In this way, my thoughts are my cotton t-shirts, denim, and boxer briefs.

Instead of wearing the same old t-shirt over and over again just because it’s sitting on top of the pile, I get to wear all the clothes I own because I’ve organized them in a way where I can access them all.

And when my closet becomes a mess, I know it’s time for me to clean.

Or, write.