There are two points that I want to make before I start this blog post.
POINT ONE: Recently, after some introspection, I've realized that I strive to be the kind of blogger you can relate to. I want to write truly, freely, playfully, and honestly. I don't want to be contrived and holy shit, so much of the blogging world is unbelievably contrived. I realize that that's the name of the game and that not many people want to read an honest recount of what it's like being 23 years old and living with my parents in as un-glamorous of a location as suburban Connecticut. Often we read because we want to escape our little bubble of reality. But also, just as often, I read because I'm searching for some small kernel of myself within all other 23 year old ladies out there. So I want to be authentic here, starting now.
POINT TWO: I want to be a writer. Physically, I am a writer, since I'm writing, right now. But recently I've been listening to a podcast (as a part of my August goals) called Magic Lessons with Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love and most recently Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. The episode that resonated the most for me was a young woman named Missy from Florida, who works an atrocious job in a call center but wants to write short stories. Liz Gilbert listens to their creative blocks and gives them gentle, honest, hilarious advice for creative living. It's been unbelievably inspiring, man.
So, from the time I was in 4th grade, maybe even 3rd, I've been told that I should be a writer.
My 4th grade teacher was this larger-than-life woman named Mrs. Horton. Mrs. Horton was easily 300lbs, had a smokers' hacking cough, lived by the beach, and rode a motorcycle. For whatever reason, she saw some creative spark in my writing ability and told my parents that one day, I would be a writer. Did I hone that skill? In some ways yes. I can't even tell you how many untitled documents I have saved to my old and decrepit laptop (which still works! But takes 20-30 minutes just to turn on). From that fateful fourth grade class, all the way up until college, I would write religiously. Probably 75% of it was teenage angst, but maybe some of it was actually good writing! Poetry, blogs, journals, diaries, short stories, first chapters to future novels. And then I just... stopped.
If I'm being totally transparent, a huge part of that pause was due to a soul crushing heartbreak and the debilitating fall out from said heartbreak. Of course I couldn't write during that time - I could barely function. I'm not 100% healed from that, and I probably won't ever be. It's one topic that I have never tried to write about and it may be a long time before I do.
But, I think that it's time to unpause that creative flow that was ignited in me at such a young age. Do I wish that I went to college for journalism and had a cushy job at a magazine office in the city right now? KIND OF. Do I also think that my life will be just as well served once I have my Master's degree in either Dance Therapy or Occupational Therapy (still deciding) and am helping all kinds of people to live their best lives every day? OF COURSE.
Yet now, I don't think I have to choose. I have an outlet right here. I can freelance write if I so choose. I can write a book, damnnit. This gift that I believe I have, to string words together in an effortless way, to tell stories, to be authentic and share my voice - like that annoying woodpecker on the side of my house every morning at 4:00am - I can't ignore it.
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