A walk. A word. An attachment. To ideas or statements. To conventions or concepts. A sentence I’ve thought too much. A sentence I’ve spoken too little. 

I’m listening to “Javelin” by Sufjan Stevens as I write this. An album I’ve long since forgotten about. A peace I’ve long since disregarded.

I have nothing to teach you. This is the title I’ve chosen for my article. For once I’ll be brief, or rather the belief in that statement will allow me to continue writing. This is only my fourth article and most of them have attempted a message. An axiom. A truth revealed to me as much as to you. But what have I learned?

A walk. 

I was walking the first time I heard “Javelin”. I walked as I thought of how I’d write this article. Thus a connection. A tethering. Past and present united, as the truth or rather the lack thereof was revealed to me:

I’ve learned nothing. 

This is not a topic for fun reading. This is not a topic for casual glances. I refuse to succumb to article speak — as if I have an answer — an explanation. I have nothing to teach you. 

You have everything to teach me.

A flash. A piece of imagery. A memory of laughter, or perhaps just beauty. In order to write, it seems I have to be convinced no one else sees them as well — that I need to share these revelations — or prove a feeling I can never stop. Maybe even spread my pain so as to make me feel less alone.

Evidence of what haunts me. Evidence that I am someone who is capable of being haunted. Evidence that I am someone.

My truth is that I deny it. My days are neither good nor bad. I tread through seconds and gusts of wind. My job is only the next step. This is not your truth. Nor is yours mine. But trust that as I make my way through yet another walk, I see your path. I see the footsteps that cross with mine. We are someone. Perhaps this makes us both feel less alone. 

I have no authority to impart lessons. Though I’m given a platform by humanity and a mind by nature, I’ve proven time and time again that I don’t have the power to teach myself, let alone a wider audience. I bathe in fear and pray that someone lifts me out of the water. Sometimes a thought saves me, other times a person. We understate how much humans need each other. Then all too often a few months, weeks or days pass and I find myself underwater again. 

I am excited for your truth. I am excited for the next time I believe anyone has any right to give me a lesson at all. I am simply a small figurine that moves across wide plains looking in awe. This is my truth. Or rather today’s version of it. Maybe yours will help me more.

Anthony Morris is an opinion writer. Contact them at [email protected]