Seriously, What’s the Point? Why I Write

My roommate once asked: “What’s the point?” when he walked into our living room after a long day at the office and saw me reading a Cicero biography. This question caught me off guard because I wasn’t prepared to defend my reasoning for wanting to understand what made Cicero such a powerful communicator — never mind his leadership style, management capacity, or policies. At the time, I was interested only in knowing what made him such an influential and central figure to the development of Western civilization. How has his name endured through the ages? We remember him, mostly, for his oratorical ability. However, my roommate’s question begged me to consider why we do anything in life. Seriously, what’s the point? Why does he workout every day? Why do some people enjoy going to happy hour on Friday evenings after a taxing week and others prefer sitting in front of the television? Why do people read? Why do people write? Why do some people pursue higher education and other people forgo formal schooling by entering the workforce in hopes of gaining more immediate job skills/experience? These are all questions that have baffled me simply because I cannot answer the complexity of human nature. What’s more, is that I can barely explain my own passion for reading and writing. Sure, I read to become a better writer and inform my stories; but, more than that, I am eager to create narratives that will endure long after a reader has closed a book or stopped reading. I write for that fallen boy to encourage him to get back up, for that girl transcending societal norms to tell her that she can, for that man on the street corner with a “Will Work For Food” sign to restore his dignity with words that will rejuvenate his soul and show him: this too shall pass, and finally for that woman struggling for equality to inspire a sense of we-could-not-do-it-without-you. I write so that — like Cicero — I and my words can live forever in the hearts of people.