52: The Final Scribble of 2024: Do Words Ever Leave the Abyss?

As the clock winds down on 2024, I find myself staring at this blank canvas, pondering what to say in my final blog of the year. Should this piece be profound, lighthearted, niche, or entirely random? The truth is, I’m unsure. But isn’t that the essence of writing? You never quite know where your words will land or if anyone will truly care.

For centuries, humans have scribbled their thoughts onto every surface imaginable—cave walls, parchment, WordPress drafts—chasing permanence in a world where everything feels fleeting. But why? Is it vanity? Connection? Therapy? Maybe all three.

Writing, in many ways, is like tossing a message in a bottle into the ocean. Sometimes it washes ashore, and someone picks it up, captivated by your thoughts. Other times, it sinks into the abyss, lost but no less meaningful.

Statistically speaking, over 7 million blog posts are published daily. That’s staggering, right? Yet, amidst this tidal wave of words, every writer holds onto the hope that their post will resonate, inspire, or even just make someone chuckle. A single sentence, like a spark, can ignite a reader’s imagination.

This year, my keyboard and I have been through a lot—explaining Web3 concepts like smart contracts, crafting puff pieces for projects, and juggling my own creative endeavors. From technical guides that make you want to fall asleep (but hey, they pay the bills!) to novels born from insomnia, writing has been my constant companion.

Do I enjoy it? Sometimes. Writing is like running. The first mile feels impossible, but then you hit your stride, and the endorphins kick in. Other times, it’s like chewing on glass—painful but strangely satisfying when you finish.

There were moments in 2024 when I wondered: Is this just shouting into the void? Does anyone even care about my carefully crafted metaphors or the dad jokes I sneak into technical blogs? Maybe not. But perhaps someone, somewhere, read a line, smiled, and thought, I needed that today.

A single sentence can linger in someone’s mind for years. Like this gem from Kafka: “A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.” Did something I write in 2024 become someone’s axe? Or at least a pocketknife? The optimist in me hopes so. The realist knows most of my work was likely skimmed or forgotten.

Still, writing is a leap of faith. You write because you must—because the alternative, staying silent, feels like surrendering a tiny piece of yourself.

As I close out this year, I leave you with this: Writing may feel like shouting into the void, but the void listens more often than we realize. Every word is a pebble tossed into the pond, creating ripples we might never see. And if, by chance, you’ve carried even one of my words with you, then 2024 wasn’t wasted.

Here’s to 2025—a year of more words, more ideas, and maybe, just maybe, fewer technical documents. Because let’s face it, if I wanted to write about Web3 forever, I’d tattoo “smart contracts” on my forehead.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to write my resolutions. Spoiler: They’ll probably involve less procrastination and more clever blog endings.