Words kept coming, fed by a relentless expansion of ideas on my topic of choice. The thoughts made sense, the illustrations came without excessive effort, this was what writing is supposed to be. I felt like one of those awesome stereotypical word geniuses, too. I hadn’t shaved in days, was rocking jeans with holes in them, had hair all over the place and as always, was wearing my giant glasses. Steam from my latte fogged the lenses every time I took a sip. I was my favorite stereotype.
The drink disappeared and reappeared, or at least my perception of it went from my mouth to my bladder, but the words were still coming, so I waited to part with what was left of my drink. I chuckled to myself whenever a witty comment appeared. I congratulated myself on my depth and discernment. I thanked Jesus for helping me do this. I was in the zone.

Two hours later, the thought process slowed down. Half an hour beyond that, it hit a brick wall. I was still more than content with the day’s work and figured it was time to revisit and do some editing. The same smiles and fawning thoughts returned as I made a few word changes and added some explaining details, but the joy soon abandoned me to questions of self-doubt.

Wait. Do I believe what I just wrote?

Will I always believe it?

Do I want to be responsible for this?

I don’t know all the answers. Nobody should experience the least bit of shock at that statement. So when I write, I write from experience and study, but experience doesn’t dictate truth. Sometimes, it can even appear to contradict it. So, if something appears to live as truth now, will it always? Will some revelatory experience or discovery unveil some paradigm-killing information? Part of me hopes not. I don’t want to admit that I’m wrong. The better half of me desires these experiences because Truth is what can make me happiest, but that’s not without pain first.

I agree with what I wrote now, but what if it was published? What if someday somebody interviewed me and informed me that the perspectives from my multiple publications (ha) contradicted each other? Obviously humility would have to come about to help save some face. I’m holding onto what I wrote. I’m examining it and praying about the details and the perspective because I want to present as much truth as possible now to prevent future philosophical U-turns.

But no matter how much I try to prepare for this in an attempt to avoid it,

I bet it happens anyway.

(bad words)