You might disagree. You might think that’s not how it works. Because following this logic, I’d also be a cook, a runner, a photographer, a painter, a professional nap taker and god knows how many other things.
But I am not, I am a writer.
I might be a good one, I might be a bad one. But still, I am a writer.
I am because the stories never leave my mind. And even though life pulls me away in other directions, I always come back to writing. I couldn’t help it even if I wanted to.
It’s an impulse. It’s therapeutic. It’s my minds way of coping with things, of processing them. As much as it is also a way of escaping from reality for a while. Getting lost in a world of one’s own creation. Being the one to set the rules and move the strings of an imaginary destiny. Taking control. And then losing it again because characters come to life to such extent that it seems they make decisions of their own.
I started writing around the age of eight and haven’t stopped since. I wrote my first long story at ten, and it was a shitty one. A total joke. But my dad decided it was cool enough to print and bind 20 copies of it to give out to the entire family. It was called “The tiny ones and mom in the countryside”. An awfully absurd title and an even more absurd story. I have to say though, I have a great laugh every time I come back to it and give it a read.
However, it had a simple but well-built plot, some suspense, dialogue, and very original characters that I would probably not be able to come up with nowadays.
It’s funny how growing up sucks the creativity out of us like some sort of reality-driven vacuum cleaner. As we grow, we start to become aware of boundaries and internalizing them. We start putting everything in a box, including ourselves.
What we can and cannot do. What we are, what we are not, what we’re bound to become and what we could never be.
Those boundaries sometimes sound like this:
“That’s too difficult”
“That’s not a very stable pathway”
“Yeah, but only a few people can really make a living out of that”
“You’d be better off sticking to____, like your *insert name of authoritative adult*”
“You’re not good enough”, “you should’ve started sooner” or “it’s too competitive”
“I guess it’s a nice hobby but…”
All of these are nothing more than boxes, and they’re usually presented (by others or yourself) along with a dubious frown and slight tone of disapproval.
After this little voice has spoken to you for long enough, it sticks with you. The walls of that box start getting thicker, more opaque, and you start to see less and less of what’s outside of them. You narrow your own opportunities to the point where you leave outside that one thing that ignites your spirit. The stuff that, when you talk about it, makes your eyes glow and gets you in a state of creative flow. That thing that makes you lose track of time and be “in the moment”. No matter if it’s producing music, painting, writing, scientific researching, coaching kids, dancing, traveling, acting… whatever it is, please don’t leave it out of the box. Actually, never mind. Step out of that box right now. Be heard. Sing your song whatever that is.
“If you want to be a singer… think like a singer, say you are a singer, and of course, sing your song.” — Cleo Wade
We spend too much time of our lives waiting for others to hang those medals on us. To certify and approve us. Thinking, “if I get that gig”, “if I get X number of views”, “if I get that promotion”, “if I get that award”, “if I get that publication…”. We often let the challenging void between us and our dreams hold us back in procrastination, whereas if we approach them with an attitude of “I am” instead, we’re more likely to attain them, just because we feel more deserving, we own them.
Be the one to certify who you are. Give yourself your own medals.
Authorize yourself.
If there is one thing I learned from having my dad distribute that little “book look-alike” is that he taught me the importance of making my dreams more tangible, more present. I learned the importance of authorizing myself and that there is a certain vulnerability that comes with it. It’s the price you pay for shipping your work. And shipping your work is a non-negotiable when it comes to authorizing yourself. There’s no other way.
Since then, there’s been hundreds of stories (better ones, I like to think). Most of them got lost along the way, unfinished. Still, never left my mind. And that is one of the main issues that I’ve struggled with throughout these years. The challenge of pulling through those stories until the end. When I write a story, I feel I am trying to solve a complex mystery, some sort of crossword, for which I still haven’t created all the connections yet. Most of the times I don’t even see the whole picture in my mind until the very end, and I am the first one to be surprised with the outcome.
But then I realize, I don’t write for the endings. I write for all the possible beginnings accessible at the tip of my fingers. I write for the joy I experience during the process. I don’t write for others to read. I don’t write for that recognition. Of course it’s nice when someone enjoys or compliments your work (it’s one of the coolest things about writing: the ability to trigger emotions in others and connect with them by just typing a bunch of words from the comfort of your couch. I mean, isn’t that like having an extraordinary super-power?).
But still, I don’t write for them, I write for myself. I write because it fulfils my truest form of expression. And I will continue to do so even when there’s no one else to read these words on the other side. No matter what my nine to five is, no matter the medals that others put or take from me, I am a writer.
I might be a good one, I might be a bad one. But still, I am a writer.
And you, what are you?
This article is an extended touched up version of a note I wrote to myself some time ago when I felt I was starting to get “boxed-up” again. By publishing it now, I’m stepping out of the box. I’m singing my song. And I would like to invite you to sing yours.
It’s not easy, I know. Sharing your work with the world requires a level of vulnerability that can sometimes be intimidating. You don’t have to start here, but start somewhere. Whether it’s in the comment section below or some other place I hope this article encourages you to authorize yourself. Do yourself that favour.