Chapter One.
I had always wanted to be a writer, and even though I write, I never really identified myself as one… maybe up until this point (I mean, if you have a blog, you’re instantly considered a writer, right? ...right?). It still feels weird though, calling myself that, calling myself anything for that matter. Even saying my name out loud sounds weird, sometimes. A big reason why I wanted to start my own blog was due to all of my confusion. Who am I? What am I? What should I be doing with my life? Am I failing? What is failure? What is success? I’ve been desperately looking for answers ever since I turned 21 (hello tenth house profection year!), asking just about every adult I knew or passed by; the cashier at my local grocery store, my best friend’s mom, Marney, my hairdresser, Martha, even random strangers on the internet, all of them who tell me I’m doing “just fine.” So why doesn’t it feel like it?
Struggling in your 20’s is a canon event. In a way, I actually kind of like the struggle. I’ve always been afraid to be defined by one single thing, which I see a lot of adults striving towards: a job, a marriage, a title, a certain salary amount. I find comfort in my ability to be outright messy, and having an excuse for it (oops, I’m in my 20s!). I like the change that comes from growth, from discomfort, and sometimes, outright fear. Obviously, you will find me screaming, crying, throwing up while scared, but that’s what I mean by messiness! It’s a necessary condition in your 20’s, because you’ll be getting messy regardless. And trust me, after you’ve given it your all to your mess, you’ll feel hundreds of times better.
In comparison to other people, I’m not particularly shy about sharing my own messes. I don’t see my ability for vulnerability as an act of courage, but rather, the norm. I think it confuses me more, that as a society, we’ve been socialized to internalize all of our experiences. Obviously, that’s a conversation for another time, since we can get deep into the nuances of patriarchal customs, but on a base level, why is it so wrong to say, “Yes! This happened to me. It sucked!” without every person looking at you like you’re crazy, and deeply, mentally unwell.
I think that’s why I was so unable to call myself a writer. Every story, fiction or not, that I have conjured with my own hands, derives from my own pool of mess. I was unable to claim my stories as mine due to shame. I was so scared of being ostracized due to my intense background and upbringing (Scorpio 4H, everybody!), that I too, internalized everything. Songs were never about the real mess. Poetry was never about my depression, or my anxiety, or my OCD. At a certain point, it all began to feel too inauthentic, and I guess that’s why I’m here right now.
Authenticity is truly important to me. It shows to me that you can be afraid of judgement, yet still be proudly, and loudly, yourself. Courage doesn’t assume an absence of fear, but rather strength in spite of fear (I know, sooooo cliché, but would I even be a true Leo if I didn’t mention the Strength tarot card?). Am I scared? Not right now. Will I be scared later on? Maybe. The possibility for fear always hangs in the air, but this time, I’m choosing to ignore it.
I’m not sure what this entire blog will be about, yet. That’s primarily the reason why I’ve left the LEARN MORE! button in the home page, completely empty. I don’t know where all of this will take me. Or if people will even want to hear what I have to say?! Because these are a lot of words, and only someone that cared would get all the way down to the bottom. So, thank you for that. All I can tell you for now, is that I’m glad to be here. And I’m glad to be writing.