I take a risk when I write at night, especially when I write a personal piece.

I’m a different person at night. More willing to reveal. Less circumspect about sharing something that I’ll feel embarrassed about the next morning. 

I feel some of that embarrassment right now.

Let’s consider the possible reasons:

1) I’m showing weakness.
2) My issues are small, especially in the current world crisis.
3) Instead of writing something of substance, I’m whining. I’m bloviating. 
4) I fear that instead of connecting with you, I’m coming across as disturbed. 

I mean, I am disturbed, but not in a way that I want people to fear. It’s more that I’m confused. 

Youngest Master Weisman is lying with his head on my lap, watching Teen Titans Go!, as I write this. He’s happy. We’re healthy. I’m grateful. Why do I need anything else?

I want to matter outside these walls. 

And this isn’t the answer.

So I’m embarrassed about what I’m doing here.

And yet, I’m going to continue.