As I sit here at my kitchen table, self-quarantined, in Northern Michigan, NPR playing in the background while I try not to over-focus on the negativity of the current state of everything while still fully understanding the gravity of it, I decided to fall into writing.
The one thing that’s followed me through my entire life.
From trying, and failing, to write comic books as a kid while my best childhood friend, Scott, illustrated wildly colorful characters to go along with it.
To writing pilots for television shows while sitting alone in my bedroom in Grand Rapids, and music to record with my friend, Hunter after my brother passed away.
Along with writing web-comedy after my house caught on fire and I lost near everything I owned.
It’s become my constant, writing. Longer in my life than theatre. Longer than music. Longer than love.
Writing has been my refuge. Cheesy as it sounds.
So, now, I write again.
Hoping to find and comfort others that are also lost in quarantine.
Currently I’m snacking on salted almonds that could use more salt. My window blinds are open letting in the cloudy light that seems to be stretching over the sky as far as my eyes will allow me to see. I know that I have schoolwork to do, as all classes, essentially around the country, have gone to online schooling; but I find it so hard to focus on such things while everything seems so bleak.
But I refuse to be the person who’s acting all dejected and put-out during this current apocalypse. Instead I, along with countless others that I know, are falling to our chosen art forms. Falling? Maybe more being lifted up by.
These words might not find anyone other than my own computer screen, but they’re helping me, none-the-less. So I’ll continue to write, and hopefully others will read. And if you do, let me know. I’m here to talk. We all need a little bit of love. I’m certain we’ll be touch-starved by the end of all this.