I am in a constant state of reinvention. Currently, I am revamping my website to house all of my endeavors – writing, freelance work, podcasting, protest-tees, etc. It gives me something to do, and it forces me to take a personal inventory so I can evaluate where I am, where I’ve been, and what the fuck I hope to achieve.
It also made me realize I missed a certain part of myself.
Someone I have come to love dearly sent me a photo of a tattoo they got last week of words I wrote. I was absolutely elated, touched, humbled, and a bit… I dunno. Scared? Taken aback? Something. I spent the next few hours inside my head somehow blaming myself for something I couldn’t put my finger on, but I knew was wrong.
How could someone take my words and think they are worthy of … becoming a permanent piece of themselves?
It was a strange reaction, I admit. I have words tattooed on my wrist of words written by Tupac, and by Ta-Nehisi Coates respectively. Words that mean a lot to me; words that remind me that I am a badass. But my words on someone else? The stupid voice in my head tried to convince me that my words are shit and not worthy of any sort of permanence or aspiration.
I never told this person their tattoo sent me spiraling down the dark road paved my the voice in my head. It was nothing they did wrong and I would hate for them to think it was. Really, it is what it has always been: my problem.
The mind plays terrible tricks on us sometimes.
The mind plays terrible tricks on us.
My mind plays terrible tricks no me.
So I did what I do and took Dexter for a walk along the streets of Paris. Paris did what she does and snapped me the fuck out of my mini-spiral.
What does any of this have to do with Dribblin’?
Well, this same person reminded me that writing requires active participation. It’s a fucking verb.
Writing – the activity or skill of marking letters, words, or other symbols on a surface, typically paper, with a pen, pencil, or similar implement. -Oxford Fucking Dictionary
Then they dispensed this little nugget: just do the fucking thing. Which, if you’ve been around my various blogs then you know, is very close to a sentiment I keep above my computer:
And it hit me. I need to bring back My Daily Dribble. Not for you, for me. So I will section off a little portion of this site to house my daily nonsense and you can read it or not. It will be for me. And if ever I write something that inspires you to place it permanently on your person I promise to create a post that somehow makes it all about me.
