If I had been a lot less afraid, maybe this post would have gone up a long time ago.
Just like most people, 2020 was a painful year for me. It was a year tinged with the realities of what it meant to be accountable to no one and the forced narrowing of what my core values were. I was presented with a big question: What else was I going to do with a life that will never be long enough?
The biggest mistake I made in my attempt to carve out a sustainable career for myself was to ignore the passions and interests that made everyday interesting. As mentally taxing and confronting as I have found writing to be, I have never been able to stray away from the fulfillment that storytelling provides. I stopped writing when I started university, letting fear dictate my creative pursuits. That halted when I started writing a novel in late 2019 for the first time in a very long time until the pandemic hit, when it became too uncomfortable to write a book about grief when the whole world was collectively grieving for our past, present, and future.
The revival of this blog and what it may or may not become is rather the permission I give to myself to pursue an old interest again and to aspire to hold an identity I didn’t think I was good enough for. I used to be unashamed of my writing until I worried no one needed to read what I wrote. But there’s a big lesson for every writer to learn – You will never be the best writer but you don’t need to be. Art is subjective enough that there is a place for almost every piece of expression.
So with that I say hello and hope my journey may be insightful or interesting to you.
x C.