lifeserial:

A guy named Michael O’Neal (@moneal) posted a question on Instagram this afternoon.

When do you feel most alive? Why?

I sat at my desk for awhile, thinking of my answer and the why. Then responded:

When I make something with my own two hands, whether it’s writing in print or a developed photo or whatever. I’ve made a tangible example of my existence. I’m here. I live.

I think it’s true. I get such joy out of creation. Writing and putting words down, essentially making something out of nothing and ephemeral ideas, is somewhat of a drug. There isn’t a thrill like the finished product. I stick on the second part of my answer though, the why. I’ve thought more about it now, and I feel like it seems to propose the idea that to feel alive the thing you’ve made must be recognized. “A tangible example of my existence.” I know I exist. Do I need others to know I’ve existed? No. That’s nice, but no. I should feel alive all on my own. Except that writing and art and photography, they’re not made for a bubble. They’re things made to be shared. These works are for the commons, to bridge and connect, to touch and impart. So now I’ve over-thought it all down to the wires. Blasted.

Something to consider.