I wrote a little story last year. It was about music and its potential power and beauty. It explored the terrifying notion of how it might feel to exist without music in our world. It was a tender little piece. … it had magic, for all its lightness and air. It had depth.
Some days, I wonder why I write stories. Is it to get published? Yep. Can’t deny that one. Is it to be read and heard, and maybe loved? Oh, yes. But why does it make me ache if I don’t?
Where you might see softness, I can find strength. Where you think you’ve found weakness, I can see depth.
But the heart it takes to share who you are, how much you’ve suffered only to be you, that’s something incredible.
This is the potential beauty of podcasts everywhere. This sudden light into the heart of someone else’s life.