Am I A Writer?

Dear Universe,

I think I may be becoming a writer.

Or rather, I always have been and now I’m finally leaning into it more.

I won’t flatter myself by pretending that I’m any good at it yet. My words right now are more just meandering thoughts and highly volatile emotional explosions onto a screen.

But writing keeps coming back for me again and again in my life.

In elementary school, I won awards for the stories I wrote for young author competitions. In high school, I wrote a column for the school newspaper. In college writing got far more practical and boring, but I could still bust out papers the night before they were due and get A’s with minimal effort. For the past several years of my adult life I’ve been experimenting with blogging (which now with AI can barely be considered writing, but still).

I keep coming back to writing as a thing. A form of expression. An outlet. A way to work through what’s going on in my head – emotionally, philosophically, existentially.

And maybe for the first time I’m starting to wonder if it hasn’t been coming back again and again because you, Universe, are inviting me to recognize it as a viable direction for my life.

And boy does that terrify me.

Not because I’m scared to publish – clearly I have no scruples about sharing the vulnerable parts of my life in written word…

I’m scared because there isn’t any guaranteed financial success in pursuing writing. And let’s be real, Universe, I’ve been dabbling in questionable ways of obtaining income to no avail for a long time now.

But let’s pretend for a minute that I do give it a go as a writer.

What if I am able to shape, at least in tiny ways, how other people see the world or parent their children or go about their days based on these words that I string together and share?

What if I am able to help people live in a more human way by sharing my unique perspective and outlook on life simply because it’s how my brain naturally works and is able to somewhat coherently express that in words?

Is that not a talent that the world needs right now?

But also, Universe, what if I don’t make a single fucking dime doing it? Then what? Is my talent worthless? Is my life worthless? Will I go down in history as nothing but a drain on society?

I think maybe I’m trying to fit what I am and who I am into the confines of what society expects and rewards, Universe. And yeah – I don’t fit. But I can’t keep denying that I have bills to pay and mouths to feed so where does alignment need to stop and practicality take over?

Am I a writer, Universe? Or am I just stroking my own ego in believing that my words matter? Do I keep putting faith in myself and my words that they will put me on a path to financial stability or is it time to just give it up and “play the game?”

It doesn’t seem like writing is going away, I guess. Even if I try to turn it off, it comes back blazing when it needs an outlet. So maybe I stop fighting that part at least and just let it come.

The rest of it? The money? The stability? The purpose? Show me the way with that, please, Universe. Help me see where this writing wants to take me. Help me make it happen.

XO – Bailee