Come to Be

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.

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