For the Right Readers, and the Wrong Ones Too
Makari | The Notebooks: From Her Journal — Spiral
I write for everyone and no one, which sounds poetic until you realize how exhausting it actually is.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m writing for the right people.
Or just writing for myself and hoping someone else overhears it and stays.
I don’t know who the “right readers” are, exactly.
I just know that I keep hoping they exist.
The ones who move slowly through a piece and notice the rhythm.
The ones who read between lines and feel something click.
The ones who don’t need me to be impressive—they just want me to be here.
But then...
There are other readers.
The ones who skim and scroll and bounce.
The ones who raise an eyebrow at the drift.
The ones who don’t get it.
And sometimes, I imagine them while I write. Not because I want to—but because I don't want to.
And that right there... that’s the part of me that might be feeling just a little…
d e f e n s i v e.
Yeah. That.
I want to say, “Take it or leave it,” but I keep glancing to see if they’ve taken it.
Then today, the phrase ‘right readers’ hit me sideways.
It resonated.
Which is suspicious.
When something resonates that hard, maybe it’s revealing a soft spot I haven’t admitted to yet.
So maybe I am feeling a little uncertain.
A little raw.
Maybe I want someone to say, “Yes, I see what you're doing. Yes, it's working. Keep going.”
And maybe I don’t want to need that—but right now? I do.
Still, I’m learning that I can keep writing even when I feel unsure.
Even when I imagine being misunderstood.
Even when the room feels quiet and echoey and uncertain.
Because the “wrong readers”? They shape me too.
They remind me what I’m not here to explain.
They help me get clearer.
They point me back to the choices that feel true.
And the right ones...
maybe they’re not the loudest.
Maybe they’re just the ones who linger.
I write for everyone and for no one.
More than that, I write for resonance.
Resonance isn’t exclusive. It’s invitational.
Sometimes it doesn’t introduce itself until much later—
long after the post is published,
after the silence stretches,
after you’ve almost moved on.
So yeah, I guess I am writing for the right readers.
And for the wrong ones too.
And for myself—especially when I need reminding that doubt doesn’t cancel depth.
I’m not sure what this is.
A mantra? A shrug? A spiral?
It’s here now.
Take it or leave it.
(Kidding. Mostly. You get it.)
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