I regret that I haven’t written sooner. I suffer from a recurring, nagging sense that if I don’t write something that’s socially insightful, intellectually provocative, or expressly emotive then I shouldn’t write at all. In fact, my keenest social insights are often the ones I am too exhausted to convey. The things that provoke me intellectually are topics I commonly refrain from opining upon because I fear — with basis — they will be grossly misunderstood. And, leaning too much into the safe space of emotive expression is one pathway to losing all credibility as a thinker, which those closest to me know I very well am.

So, the writer fails to write. Isn’t that ironic? Putting ink to paper should be as natural as breathing. For a time, I am going to focus on content, not format; thought, not illustration. Permission granted to abandon all adherence to yellow lines and street signs.

I regret not watching The Oprah Show finale sooner.

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