The Cream in My Coffee

312925_2382233150652_455942593_nFrom the About page:

I once wanted to write so I could say important things to the world, but now I just want to say important things to myself. Sharing them here is not for laurels or recognition, but for the thought that maybe someone will understand better, learn something useful, or be stirred to some insight of their own.

A habit I’ve developed recently when presented with frilly words like this (usually over pretty pictures of rainbows or seashores or sunsets) is to ask, quietly or loudly depending on my mood or level of confusion, “But what does that really mean??” The two together, that question and the quoted words above, may actually be a more apt description of what I’m trying to do than anything more purpose-built I could write here, but I’m going to try anyway.

When I was twelve, my mother gave me a portable Underwood 315 typewriter for Christmas, and it was the best thing ever. I adored it and would’ve worn it out if it wasn’t so sturdily built. The A key used to fall off, and there’s that rough stain on the plastic case where I spilled a bottle of White-Out thinner when I was fifteen. Before then, I’d been writing reams of prose longhand on legal pads and three-ring binder paper, when I wasn’t sketching portraits of Cheryl Tiegs from pages torn out of Vogue or reading novels far too trashy for my age. So, writing was going to be a thing apparently, though it didn’t pan out schreibmaschine-underwood-315-von-elvisneverleftthebuilding-100072669into anything smashingly successful despite one published novel not nearly as trashy, or as well-written, as anything by Harold Robbins.

Life went past, interests waxed and waned. Romances came and went and so did jobs, traumas, gains, losses, celebrations, and joys. I still have the typewriter, though, and the A key still falls off.

For a more in-depth look at my story, take a wander through some of the essays I’ve posted here if you haven’t already. I’m sharing in as open a way as I can manage right now. In a nutshell (I always see that one scene from Austin Powers when I say that), I’ve recently begun moving on a path of exploration, and recovery from post-traumatic stress disorder, alcoholism, and, frankly, simple bare-bones survival. There is a lifetime of experiences that could make great fodder for creative fiction, sure, but for some reason I still do not understand I started scribbling something else when I did, finally, start scribbling again.

I’ve learned not to question the muses, but to work with them when they come out from their hiding place and sit on my shoulder. I’ll take it and be stoked that I’m a writer again.

On the Road From Hiraeth is an expedition into thoughts and ideas, concepts both academic and pragmatic, that began as simple (often shorter – sorry about that) Facebook posts. I have no wonderfully impressive scholarly credentials, and what I write now is meant primarily for my own benefit, my own journey, but shared for whatever benefit others might glean from it as well as a personal desire help where I can.

Honestly, I’ve no need to be anybody’s Buddha, except maybe my own.

Still, practical matters affect me, so tail planted firmly between my legs, I am accepting patronage if I can find it. I like to eat. I enjoy heat in the winter, and the ability to Google things like Plato, Sartre, and the odd stupid cat video. Disability benefits cover my rent, and the bi-monthly visits to a local food bank help stock my pantry, but I’ve been coming precariously close to being one of those people I used to look down on when I’d been a practising paramedic. In fact I already have, but I still have a home at least, and even that’s been a dodgy proposition more than a few times. Up top there’s a new menu option called Support, with a link to my patreon.com page. Kinda like that one right there.

Nothing will stop me from continuing down the path ahead, I’ve decided that. Nothing will be hidden. My journey of self-examination is an honest one, and in the spirit of that honesty I want to share it. Nothing is asked of anyone to join me, except maybe for good company and the occasional smile. Hugs are good too.

To those of you who have already reached out in kindness and generosity, you already know how thankful I am. I’ve made promises to pay it forward when I can; That time will certainly come, and I certainly will.

Serenity and inner peace is something we all should strive for, and if anything I find on my own search can help you, you are welcome to it free of any obligation.

Except maybe for a hug if we ever get together. I really do like hugs.

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