My Identity

the thing i love about writing is the exact same thing i hate about it.

writing gives me an outlet to bare my soul. to become naked with myself, god, and others.

it’s the most freeing thing i’ve ever experienced but also the most binding and terrifying thing.

but no matter how terrifying it is, i love it all the same.

just like a painter stares at their blank canvas until the first drop of paint is forced onto the white space, i stare at a blank page with a cursor blinking up at me until i can come up with the write words in order to paint the picture for my readers.

do i even have readers? goodness! what another terrifying thought. is this the right word? does this even make sense to anyone?

jeez. i just can’t even. i’m  a white girl now..and always..but especially now as i think how I can’t even do this. How am I supposed to become a writer and do this full time? How? Oh that’s right. there’s that little class thing that i just haven’t taken yet. I always have the best excuse for not paying $50 for the class but i can buy a $50 bag?! what is wrong with me.

I’m scared. that is what is wrong. But who am I failing? anyone but myself? no. i am not failing god, my mom, my teachers. i’m not failing anyone. not even myself because if I’m trying to actually achieve something and following my heart and dreams, then how am i failing?

the only sure way to fail is to not write.

someone told me being a writer did not identify me. oh how hard that was to hear! to be reminded and thrown back to earth...my identity can only come from one place....from one person and being. if it doesn’t come from him then i will find disappointment instead of fulfillment. GAH!

how real is that!? i hate that! see, the past couple years i’ve allowed myself to really enjoy who i am and a HUGE part of that is embracing that i love to write. i used to worry that it made me too geeky and complicated or that if people didn’t read what i wrote then i was no good and there was no point.

BUT THERE IS A POINT! the point is this is my passion. i love to write. even the feel of the keys pressing underneath my fingers, the accuracy in how i type, all of it just gives me a great thrill.

why do i feel like i have to wait for the muse to whisper into my soul?! the timing will always be wrong. i won’t always be able to find the PERFECT coffee shop with just the right atmosphere. i said i was going to pursue this. and so i am.

i will take that writing class...which is more of a “how to freelance” class.. but that’s okay and it’s a step in the right direction. (SO badly wanted to say “the write direction” just now. too much, yall.)

I don’t know how to make a blog boom. I don’t know how to make myself sit down and do good things, like write. I don’t know how to not go blank when I force myself to write.

But this happened, and this one isn’t so bad.

Guess I’ll have to keep going. Everyday. Try to write new things. Interview people. Jump off a bridge and write about it! i don’t know.

I’m just going forward here.

Here’s to God for giving me a gift that I love. As long as I remember that this isn’t my identity.