I want to be a writer “when I grow up.”
I’m well aware that I am in that “almost-thirty” time period of my life. In all reality, I’m grown up. But I’m reaching a point now where I am solid as concrete regarding what I want to do. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
A long time ago, I lost my voice. I never fully took it back. In writing, I feel like that voice has been given back to me. I have been through a LOT in life. But with writing, I can be heard. It doesn’t matter if it’s something I’m “not supposed to talk about.” It doesn’t matter if it’s not “politically correct.” I can write what I want and not be judged. I can write what I want, even if I can’t say it, and I can be heard. It doesn’t matter who hears it; it just matters that I hear it. I used to think that I was a writer, but I don’t think that anymore. I was a person who could write, but I didn’t know what it meant to be a writer. At some point this past semester, writing completely changed for me. It’s gone from something I like to something I love. I’ve realized that I do it well. I have this sudden understanding that my work is an extension of me. It’s strong; it’s powerful. I’m strong; I’m powerful.
I’m well over halfway done with my undergrad degree. It’s a question now of where I want to go. Where DO I want to go? How will I get there? WILL I get there? What will happen to me if/when I DO?
So many questions. But I know that my decision, the decision to write, is the right one for me. And in assuming this position, in taking my voice back, I am going where I need to go. I am moving forward. I am coming to be.