How has writing changed you on a personal level?

Who but anonymous readers, my keypad, a paper and pen could even tolerate what flows through my mind as it does. Some interested as I can vocalize what I write but probably pretty taxing for anyone at length. My verbal exchange is never short when I found a receiver. Extremely short when unavailable, always mindful of when to stop or let another express.

Putting the "abstract" into words….a place outside of my being where they become that much more real.

Sometimes an art, sometimes cathartic, sometimes both.

Where ideas, thoughts, perspectives kinda come to life in the existence of words however received "out there".

I may value my "art" as I value my thoughts and feelings, perspectives, I think I value them that much more in the process of putting it "out there" with the comfort of anonymity at least sort of.

Nobody I know in real life has followed my writing, my expressions that I know of although some are temporarily curious, I don't speak of it hardly ever.

A comparison from many years ago, a very creative "friend", always drawing, painting, a known creative force without exhibition although everyone pushed them, caught glimpses and even wanted to purchase, it was probably all too personal with a lack of confidence in "putting it out there"….

That type of "art" needs to be touched and seen and it probably should have been, I don't know what became of that friend later but I bet the creativity is still there.

Might I feel differently in my "art" if it were on full display to all around me and even being referred to as a writer, I don't know. I don't fear it, if anything, it's the opposite. I'm no longer attached to it's most vulnerable beginnings.

For now, I just write, however it's come about and where I do it, fairly new to my life.

It's still my personal art, has become it regardless of who sees/reads it. Might it have any effect on those that know me apart from I? Maybe. Would I wish it went back somewhat hidden, no.

As I walk, live and breathe, my heart and mind travel around with me, my verbal expression always there but not even close to the freedom of writing it out.