I grew up understanding that there were years between the moment I was currently in, and who I wanted to be. There was always things stopping me. I had school. I was too young. I still needed to… I could list a million different reasons that I always had to comfort me from really following my dreams. Maybe someday I’d… well, in a moment I hadn’t expected I realized that my someday has become today, yesterday, maybe even a little tomorrow. The last few days I’ve been sitting in my apartment freaking out about the money that is no longer flowing into my bank account. I’m afraid of uncertainty. What do I do? How do people get by when they don’t have a job? Am I making a mistake? Will all of this really work out? These are just a few doubts I have on a daily basis.

For so long, people have asked me what I wanted to do. And I’d roll my eyes, let out a nervous laugh, and then say something like “whatever pays the bills” or, if I was being remotely honest, I would say “I’m still figuring that out”. Lately though, I’ve been stepping up to the plate. Slowly I am fessing up to who I am. I’m confessing to who I’ve always been, at the very core of me. A writer. I tell stories. It’s what I’ve always done. And honest to god, I expect it’s probably what I’ll always do. One way or another I’ll figure it out, and tell the stories of all the places I’ve seen. And the things I can only imagine.

I met someone today who struck me as something they turned out not to be. At first glance of this person I saw someone not all that different from a lot of people I know. Attractive, confident, borderline flirty, outgoing, so on and so forth. Yet as I talked to them I realized they were nothing like they seemed. This person looked at me and challenged me as a writer. Broad sholders and all they challenged me to rise up to who I know I really am. Without saying the words, they made me want to put paper to pen. They made me want to do what I know I need to do. They made me want to write. To put my words poeticly on paper. To prove a point through something that comes to me so effortlessly.

Q: “What kind of writer are you?”

A: “A good writer” 🙂


One thought on “Write(r)

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