Maybe This Frees Us in Some Way
I’m writing a book about my hearing loss.
It’s composed largely of fragments — though I think of them as love letters.
The fragments themselves represent this loss, as I miss many things in conversations. The fragments point to all we can never know, even especially about ourselves.
My hearing loss means that in some ways my own stories are mysteries to me.
As a writer this is deeply perplexing and sad and also makes me question and doubt myself far more than is necessary.
But these gaps, these spaces, are not absence, just as the distance between us is not loss. Or it doesn’t have to be.
I would never look at the sky and call it empty. So I am learning to love all I will never know, all I will not hear, and call it something else.
Maybe that something is hope.