For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. (There was a brief stint in middle school where I swore I wanted to be a lawyer, but that phase ended quickly.) I have journals dating back to childhood that say the same thing: All I’ve ever wanted to do was write.
Sadly, I am not the type of person who can recognize a calling upon seeing it. I tested out other disciplines, even got a degree in one.
After graduation, I was set adrift. I knew I wasn’t ready for graduate school and every job application kept falling through. My heart wasn’t in it because nothing seemed right. I was searching for the perfect fit when I’d known the answer since I was twelve years old. I thought running away from what I wanted was the right thing to do. Maybe it still is. But I’ve never been a good runner.
Writing has never been a career in my mind. It’s a lifestyle, it’s in your blood, your bones, your very identity. It’s an essential part of who I am as a person.
I am still downright terrified. What does one do after failing their dream? What if I’m not as good at this as I think I am? What if, what if, what if. For now, I will just stick to what I know. And I know I have things worth saying. I can feel it in my bones the way some can feel a storm coming.
So, thank you for taking this journey with me. It will not be short or easy, but it will be worth it in the end. Here’s to beginnings, both new and old.