I was at a conference talking with a student about politics, and why this year when term limit reforms took effect was the best time for organizations to educate new members since the newly elected would be there for 12 years now instead of the six they were previously allowed.

“Do you write, too? he asked. “Is there some place I can go to read you where you write down all of your ideas?”

It felt like the room had suddenly stopped. “No,” I said reflectively, ” I don’t have a place I write it down.” That was when I realized I didn’t have a voice.


How much of our lives is ephemeral? What has any lasting power? Ideas matter, but documenting them and writing them down is not something I’ve ever been good at being consistent at.

How often have I flipped through old note books, pads of paper or even scraps tucked away in the bins I periodically try to tackle and sort. Reading my own words is like coming across someone else’s writing. It feels real and polished and I wonder that they wrote it only to realize it was me.

Your ideas have life.  But if you don’t write them down, they don’t exist.  So I’m trying my hardest. I’m trying real hard.