I don’t know how I feel about the fact that someone, somewhere, is reading these words.
My words.
This isn’t a detached academic essay, nor is it an objective journalistic article. This is a personal essay of mine, contained purely of my personal thoughts and feelings, and it’s out there for anyone to read.
All my life, I’ve been “the girl who likes to write.” I’d have people come to me for help with essays. I’ve been hired as an English tutor. I’ve always been very outspoken regarding my passion for writing. Ironically, I’ve never allowed anyone to read any of my “personal work,” if you will. I come from a district where many of the students went off to become doctors or lawyers; where the top students excelled in mathematics or the sciences. Nobody I knew ever wrote for fun, and if they did, they certainly never advertised it. The notion was absurd to the majority. It was too personal of an act. Personal essays are like extensive diary entries. I’d sooner be caught dead than to publish something like that.
Yet, here I am. A new contributor to an online platform for writers. How did I get here?
I’m no longer part of a community where writing is solely an academic obligation. At Emerson, personal writings aren’t just encouraged, they’re expected. I’ve been here for 5 months, and for 5 months I’ve sat back and watched writers shamelessly publicize their writings in a proud fashion. It’s admirable. It displays a sense of confidence that I’ve never had. That confidence is contagious, it seems, as I feel myself catching it. This essay is my first obvious symptom.
I’ve read various entries from the talented contributors on this platform. Their work is beautifully personal and intriguing. They aren’t afraid to pour themselves into their writing. I hope to contribute work of a similar level.
I’m just dipping my feet into the water of publicity. I’m hesitant to completely jump in right away. I don’t know how far I’ll submerge, but I’m willing to test my limits; I’ve never been willing in the past.
So, what should be expected from me? Writing like this, I suppose. Essays that are a bit more relaxed and vulnerable. I’ve grown accustomed to writing in a voiceless, sophisticated, yet almost mechanical manner. Bear with me as I try to claw myself out of that robotic style.
I don’t know how to feel knowing that my biggest writing insecurity is now publicized. I do know, however, that I’m not afraid. Am I suddenly now a ruthless blogger with no boundaries?
Far from it.
But I’m ready to keep writing, and writing, until I no longer feel a need to delete my personal draft and hide behind the security of objectivity.
Welcome to the journey of a timid writer attempting to establish a voice in the online world.
This should be fun!
