In my Google Drive sits a document titled “Blog posts”. It is two-pages long, with a total count of 712 words and 3,929 characters. Having never seen the light of day, those ideas, once warm with the spark of creation, have since turned cold. Dead, even.
My fears and insecurities were the cause, a nagging voice at the back of my head turning confidence into doubt, action into inaction, passion into apathy.
What could I possibly add to the world? There are others more experienced, more knowledgeable, and more eloquent with words. What will people think? Someone once called my writing “melodramatic”, is that how they see me? Forget it. Maybe it’s better if I just keep my head down, fade into the background…
But that’s not who I am. Or at least not who I want to be.
I want to do things because I want to. I want to write for myself, to find my voice in the vast world that I live in. To consolidate my thoughts. So, one day, I can remember what I’ve forgotten.
I want to show myself who I am. I want to document what I care about, from the most petty concerns to the most serious matters. To mark my journey. So, one day, I can see how I’ve changed over time.
Most of all, I want to learn what it means to be me.
So I’ll write.