Every time I write I approach a blank page.
Sometimes I have an idea. But the page always starts blank.
My job is to put an image on that page. Something for someone to see. But first I need to be able to see it. Otherwise how could I describe it to you. How could I help you appreciate it if I haven’t myself? Which only really happens when you live it.
Which gives some perspective to the things that happen to us. Particularly the things that we wish hadn’t. By experiencing them they instantly become something valuable. First, to us. They’re valuable because we now know one more thing that we can endure. Then, to others. Because someone’s going to need to know what we now know, someday.
And that’s how you fill the blank page. You put down what you know by way of what you’ve lived. And the blank pages start to fill up. The same way the blank pages of our lives fill up. One event at a time. Day after another and then some. Until we have the entire thing.