Me, My Journal, and My “Random” Topics
My writing might seem random.
One day I write about love.
The next, about language.
Then motherhood.
Then silence.
Then something as small as a sentence I heard in passing that refused to leave.
From the outside, it can look like I’m jumping from one place to another.
But I’m not.
I’m following.
I don’t sit down and choose a topic.
I notice what stays.
A thought that lingers longer than it should.
A feeling that doesn’t dissolve.
A question that keeps returning, quietly, until I give it words.
I write what doesn’t leave me alone.
And what doesn’t leave me alone is rarely linear.
It moves between things —
between what I feel, what I observe, what I remember, what I don’t yet understand.
Love becomes a question about presence.
Motherhood becomes a lesson in letting go.
Language becomes a way of thinking more clearly.
Silence becomes something that speaks.
To me, these are not different topics.
They are different doors to the same place.
I write because I want to understand.
Myself.
People.
The world as it is — and sometimes as it pretends to be.
There’s something almost scientific about it, in its own way.
An ongoing observation.
A collection of patterns, behaviors, reactions.
But instead of data, I work with words.
Instead of conclusions, I leave space.
My topics change.
My intention doesn’t.
I follow what fascinates me.
What moves me.
What insists.
Sometimes it’s something big.
Sometimes it’s almost nothing.
But I’ve learned that “almost nothing” is often where the most honest questions live.
So no — my writing is not random.
It’s a living process.
An inner and outer conversation happening at the same time.
And if it feels random to you,
you’re probably looking for a pattern I’m not trying to follow.
Because I don’t write to stay consistent with a theme.
I write to stay consistent with attention.
To life, as it unfolds.
To what it shows me,
when I’m willing to look.
If it feels random, maybe it’s because life is.
And I’ve stopped trying to make it otherwise.
