I don't know about any other writer - or maybe I do. Maybe I know that, like me, they have difficulty believing in themselves, in their ability to write anything meaningful, in their ability to put one word after another onto paper and have those words make sense.
It's because of this feeling that I sometimes go back to read what I've written before, like earlier today when I found myself reading a post about a movie I’d seen in August 2019 and came upon these words: "I traveled thirty minutes to see this movie and I'm so glad I did."
While reading those words I remembered what it felt like to go, at the end of a workweek, first to the inside of a restaurant for a late lunch and then to a theater where I could sit and relax for a couple of hours, and I wondered if I would ever get to experience those feelings again, if I would ever get to feel that freedom again, and whether or not this (expletive) pandemic will ever end.
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