Why I Write

Some people have yoga, others meditation, yet more a trusted, sympathetic ear.  

I have the written word.  

It began at 18 with a Summer trip through central Europe.  A red moleskin notebook, in which I would catalog my 18 year old self.  The travel journal wasn't born out of a profound need to document the trip for publication, fame, or others, but a curious desire to preserve my feelings and thoughts in a specific moment in time.  

Seven years later, I have an archive of myself from teen to mid twenties.  Seven years of travels from Hong Kong to Kenya to Argentina.  Seven years of loss and love.  Seven years of discovery and introspection.  Able to study your 18 year old self at 25 is a truly metaphysical experience.  18 year old Wes was certainly 18.  

Writing continues to serve as an invaluable tool.  Whether it was sleeping on a park bench in Germany because of hostel room shortages or a frustrating aspect of professional life, writing it down allows me to reason through life's persistent twists and turns.  

And by a stroke of luck, I've been fortunate enough to bring some of my writing into my professional life.  

So here's to seven more years of writing.  Not all of it will make this blog, but what does will perhaps inspire someone to put pen to paper.

Amsterdam 2009, at the end of my first journal and trip.