Why Art is Important

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I spend a lot of time writing. Arguably more time than I spend doing anything else, which means I spend a lot of time in my own brain (not a bad place to be). But I had a thought the other day that it might be selfish of me to do so. It might be self-indulgent to write poems barely anyone reads that only seem to matter to me. It may be even more self-indulgent to have to time to consider the question of whether or not my writing matters, but I digress.

Most of what I write goes largely unread, and that is the sad yet squishy plight of many writers. It takes a certain egoism to believe that whatever you write deserves to be read. That whatever you think or write matters, that much. The primary reason I write though, is to deeply interrogate the human experience. To do that, I need to deeply interrogate myself and I suppose that is what feels the most indulgent of all. How cute, to think my life or my experiences deserve to be examined so closely.

But here’s the thing: it does matter. It matters to me, yes, but it also makes me a better person. By deeply interrogating myself, I learn to understand myself and thereby have more kindness and empathy to extend to others. By understanding that my own life is complex and nuanced, I can extend that same grace to others. It’s really that simple.