Howling at the Moon

It isn’t socially acceptable in the city I live in to howl at the moon every night.  So I’m starting a blog instead.

The wolf howls at the moon.  The moon is too far away to hear the wolf howl. The moon can't hear anyway because it's a rock.  Also, sound can't travel in space.  But the wolf doesn't know any of this, and doesn't care.  The wolf doesn't howl for the moon.  The wolf howls for the wolf.

It is socially acceptable for wolves to howl, but I’m not a wolf, so as I mentioned, I need another outlet.  It is not the response of the moon that matters.  It is the act of howling.  The moon does not care about my problems and is powerless to change anything about my life, but putting my thoughts into words is good for my mental health.  Howling takes my thoughts and feelings out of my head.  It lets me sort them into coherent sentences.  It lets me poke and prod and evaluate my ideas.

The nice thing about the moon is that, because it can’t actually hear or respond, it seems like it is always listening.  The nice thing about the internet is that it actually is listening and occasionally responds.  For instance, someone might comment:

“But wolves don’t actually howl because they’re having existential crises.  They howl to communicate with other wolves!  You’re anthropomorphizing!”

Shut up, you uncreative twit, it’s a metaphor.

Some people howl at journals.  Others howl at whatever force or being they believe created them or controls their fate.  Others howl into bottles of pills or alcohol.  If howling into one void feels good, then howling into another should work just as well.  After all, nearly everyone won’t read this, and those that do, most likely, will care just as little as the moon does.  But howling will still do me good.

Until next time,

Meliores Te