Typing is different than writing. When I type, a little squiggle line appears under words I spell wrong. When I write, no one corrects me. I get the whole thought out without being told I am wrong.
When I write, I can write for pages without looking back at what I’ve written. The thoughts pour from my head, through my pen and out onto the page. I write quickly. One seamless motion of expression. When I type, I pause. I correct the word I spelled wrong. I delete that sentence because it doesn’t make any sense.
When I write, I capture more than what I wrote. The loops of my letters, the size of my sentences, the color of my ink. All of it works together to create a complete composite of who I am. Not just what I think, but my mood when think it. Do I feel rushed? Beautiful? Proud? Angry? Overwhelmed? When I write, you know before you read just by looking at the presentation of the page.
When I type, my perspective is tamed by the type font. Do I feel rushed? Beautiful? Proud? Angry? Overwhelmed? Everything looks the same. Uniform.
“I am not the same.” She types. The words look basic and boring on the page.
“I am different!” She types. The exclamation point the only indication of the passion behind her post.
When I write, you can see me before you read me. Except when I write, you can’t see me at all. Because when I am done writing, I close the notebook and put it away. The pages are private.
No buttons or links. No posting. No sharing. When I write, my thoughts are finite.
When I type, my thoughts are electric. They spark community, conversation and change.
“I am different!” She types.
But you’re gonna have to read it to believe it.