I’m a writer.
It’s something that I’ve talked about before. and it’s nothing that I keep a secret. At least not from my friends and followers on the internet. I’ve never considered seriously becoming a novelist as a career. Sure, I had some daydreams when I was younger about being as successful as J. K. Rowling and having assumed that I would get some nine to five job that would let me have a comfy enough house, with a husband, two kids, two cars, a backyard with a garden, and maybe a family pet. That was the normal route to me. That’s what everyone is “supposed" to aspire for. Of course, in recent years I’ve come to learn that it is both boring and unsatisfying to follow what others preach to you to be the normal and correct path to take, and have since adapted to feeling out a path for myself that brings me true excitement and happiness.
Through that realization, and other events in my life, the writer that hid away in me through the majority of my adolescence reappeared. Though that writer still has no aspirations of stardom. There are many challenges in being a writer, some of the most common being finding time to write, improving the craft, and having creative and original ideas. But the problem that bothers me the most is finding my identity as a writer. You see, if I ever do bother to tell people in my life that I write, most assume that I plan on publishing. It’s true that I wouldn’t mind making a little money off my novel (if I ever finish it) but I also wouldn’t care if it never was published, and I mean that. Writing for me isn’t all about the attention. Do I want someone to see it and give me feedback? Yes. Do I want people to revere me for it? No. Writing is therapeutic for me. It’s when I feel the most free to be unfiltered me. The only grasp that I’ve had on my identity in writing is that the written word is the absolute best way I can communicate to other people. It’s the only time my feelings and thoughts could be arranged coherently to reach people, because there’s almost always a word to relay exactly what I want to say. Then, with more creativity, I can use words to make art in the form of literature, stories, poetry. When I write, I really get to see those thoughts that get buried deep in my mind come forth and sometimes it blows me away what I’ve had pent up.
But recently, I’ve realized that my writing is not just about my emotions and thoughts. Language has always been used to connect people. Positive connections made with the truth, negative connections with lies, emotional with the relaying of feelings; all these connections made with people who can understand you tongue. What I’ve realized now is that just like my writing helps me feel understood, it helps others the same way. Writing lights the fire of conversation when we open up our hearts, and allow our souls to form into words and reach the eyes of people who might feel alone. You get this chance to change people’s perception, showing love, support, agreement, and understanding. You can open someone up to possibilities they never thought of before. This written word is like magic to me. What I fail to say though my mouth, out of fear or self conscious thoughts, comes so much easier to me when I pick up my pen.
So far, what this reflection has helped me discover is that my writing is meant to help make connections, and for now, that’s enough for me to come back again.