I find it hard sometimes to find words.

Words I believe in. Words I think will matter. Words worth saying. Who will care? Who will hear? What difference will it make? Who am I to say it? (always, ‘who am I to say it?’)

So I sit and stare at the screen. Up against the wall that seems so adept at silencing me. I have nothing to say, I think. Nothing.to.say.

And sometimes that’s true. Sometimes all the best words, the deepest words, the words that lift heavy hearts and fight for a soul’s freedom have been poured out elsewhere. And I am left with nothing more to say.

Or so I think.

The fact is we are each a drop of ocean in the ocean.

The fact is we are each the entire ocean.

We measure our voice in the world against the noise. We should measure our voice in the world by the sound of our own voice.

We should measure our voice in the world by the fact that we have one.

It isn’t the audience that makes our voice valuable. It’s our capacity to express it.

We shouldn’t decide whether we express our voice based on whether or not it will be heard or welcomed or received by another. We should express our voice because it’s our voice.

A drop in the ocean. Each drop makes up the ocean.

Without each drop the ocean doesn’t exist.

So what about those times when the words won’t move up past my heart onto the keyboard?

When something, something tender and protective, holds them close inside, refuses to let them go?

Maybe words aren’t always meant to be found. Or said. Or expressed. Or heard.

Maybe sometimes they just need to be.

Maybe sometimes the only audience words need is me.

And maybe sometimes that’s the way it should be.

Because maybe having a voice is first and foremost about being able to hear your own.