…in my underwear

Going through Hugh MacLeod’s latest book last night, I felt reassurance that writing the last post the way I did was the right thing to do (at least for now). After all, what’s the point in trying to be insightful and witty fot its own sake? What’s the point if it’s not personal? It’s not about whinging or bragging or ranting, it’s about making use of this medium as a means to discover oneself, or one’s self.

Now I’m smiling because I was really wondering why I had such a writer’s block over the last months. It’s not that there were no ideas (after all, ideas are here), but I felt some strange obligation to express them in a reasonable, insightful, generalized, pragmatic way. Bullshit. Self-imposed limitations like these prevent most people from releasing what’s inside them. What a waste.

So here I am, actually not in my underwear, trying a slightly different approach of writing, and I’ll see shere it gets me. For now, I’m happy.

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