As I write this, it’s nearly Thanksgiving. I find for all the evil that has befallen the world this year, I still have plenty for which to be thankful. Indeed, this year I found the love of my life, someone who finally gets me the way I get her. We found something special in our sudden, but powerful connection that’s irreplaceable, invaluable. and precious.

I heard a song today that made me think of us. One line in it directly inspired me to sit down and write what I am about to say. “Well, I’m a builder of bridges,” the song said, “and I could fly us up to the moon. When your time is limited, well nothing happens too soon.” The song is “Matter of Time” by Eddie Vedder, better known as the frontman of Pearl Jam.

I’ve long been gifted with the power of putting words together in ways that sound remarkably intelligent. But often I’ll drift from fancy to fancy, not sure how to best use my writing talents for the common good of humanity. I wrote poetry for many years, thousands of verses, many of which became discarded in years since. Still, many forsaken poems hang around my archives hoping to eventually see the light of day.

I have countless essays on hundreds of different topics. Some are derived from notebook musings and others from actual academic assignments. Many more are written on topics I couldn’t shake from my conscious mind without putting them into essay form. A great many of them revolve around my long-term obsession with trading card games. Sure, they were helpful to those niche audiences at the time they were written, but their value to the world at large diminishes as the years pass.

I’ve spent countless hours over the past year editing and refining those pieces that I feel still deserve to remain published somewhere. While I still write here and there, I’ve lost creative direction more recently, despite still note taking and musing on and off. But hearing that song made me consider something about writing that I hadn’t thought about before.

When we decide to write, create any sort of art, or construct anything at all, we automatically become builders of bridges. After all, why do we use bridges in the first place? We have bridges to connect two places that otherwise would never meet. Writing offers one of the most straightforward ways to build mental, emotional, and spiritual bridges to countless others.  

Whether people decide to cross those bridges or not isn’t up to us, though. Some will just stop and stare, maybe snap a photograph. Others will come halfway, then go back. But, when someone crosses that bridge and truly connects with our art, that’s the result we all long for when we set about creating. At least, I realize now that should be the end goal. 

For years, my writing became a reflex when I didn’t know what else to do with myself. But, by late 2020, I was determined to no longer waste this gift for petty ramblings or subjects that don’t truly matter. I’d still continue to share revised works from my archives, though. In fact, I’m more motivated to do so as ever. Presenting my works in an entirely nonlinear fashion makes them in a way even more timeless, being the fruits of a tireless and often unappreciated artist.

Still, I continue to shy away from writing about many hot topic subjects, due to potentially causing immeasurable controversy and grief for me. But what if something I write builds a bridge between ideas and concepts that people desperately need to read? What if I create a connection with others who understand their pains and their problems? Taking that risk does seem worth it, if my end goal is justified.

After all, none of us truly exist in isolation from one another. Many times our isolation seems, and even can be, self-imposed. But, most often, it’s that the bridges that connect kindred souls which simply don’t exist yet for us to cross. Writing helps to bridge these gaps; this is why I continue to write even when it doesn’t seem like any one is reading. Eventually, someone might just read my words at just the right time. That is to say, I write for those who will eventually read, but I have no control over when that will be.

In fact, it was a written piece of great artistry and soulfulness that built the most important bridge I’ve ever crossed. Through it, I stared straight into a soul who desperately needed to find a new connection, and that piece succeeded in such a task. I wish that my own works will one day build the same bridges for others who feel empty, lost, or otherwise befuddled to find some sort of comfort. I have a strong need for my words to work as well as that piece did for me.

I’m done seeing myself as a troubled artist, as I have for too long. Instead, I must see myself as a builder of bridges through composition and wordplay. The trouble I face is my tendency to write at a reading level that seems to exceed that of the general audience. This isn’t on purpose, but just like bridges, words will fail when they aren’t properly engineered or aren’t put quite at the right location. What good is a bridge that no one crosses? Of course, what good is a bridge that fails in its purpose of getting the visitor to cross to the other side?

Still, I can’t hold back expressing myself out of fear of judgment or misunderstanding. After all, such judgment is often born from ignorance, contempt, or both. All I can do is keep writing and try to be as relatable in my prose and verse as possible. As long as our words persist in some sort of media, they forever stand as bridges, practically indestructible connections from one intellect to another. It only takes one brave soul to cross one of these bridges to justify its construction.

My musings may serve as therapy for myself as I write them. But it’s what they become once they are written, which then come to mean whatever they are interpreted to be by those who read them. In any case, it’s important our thoughts, feelings, and ideas are shared for others to ponder over for the rest of time. Our words are bridges for our thoughts to cross over to the worlds of others. You never know just who may be waiting to receive them on the other side.

~ Amelia Desertsong