I have spent the majority of my life rejecting being a writer.
First of all, my mother, father, and older sister were all writers. Deterrent number one.
I wanted to be my own self, an individual, something new and different.
Second of all, I witnessed, first hand, the overwhelming agony of being a writer.
Writers block, idea fatigue, excruciating perfectionism, self criticism - actual criticism - rejection, waking in the middle of the night with lightning strike ideas, or expelling copious amounts of blood, sweat, and tears over a project for days or months (years!) that you believe in with every fiber of your being only to have someone "not get it."
No thanks. Deterrent number two.
Thirdly, WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN ANYWAY?!?!? This could be a sub category of the last deterrent, but for a writer, there is a constant nagging sensation that you should always be writing, but your writing means nothing. It is so easy to lose perspective, especially today, when attention spans are fleeting and there are endless newsfeeds to digest.
But, alas, no matter how I tried to suppress what always came naturally, it found ways to bubble to the surface.
The urge to write has never left me. It's the reason I have seventy-six drafts in every email account I own. These aren't prospective love letters never sent, they are ideas, paragraphs, one liners, first liners, chapter synopses, bullet lists, and character dialogues desperately trying to make sense of their own existence in this email draft folder as I am trying to make sense of why they won't leave me alone.
My delightful obsession with writing shows up in everything I do. Every college paper meticulously researched, every professional communication composed, I read and reread and edit and reread again. I read in a passive voice, edit, reread in an active voice, speculate on the reception of this choice of words, finally hit send, only to reread five more times throughout the day verifying all was communicated appropriately. Sometimes I even pull old emails from years ago, and reread how I wrote something.
It's kind of scary.
But it's because it is more than words for me. You can say a million different things a million different ways. The words you chose have power. They can cut clean through to the crux of the matter or they can just as easily cloud an idea with confusion and doubt. Our words convey, in increasingly traceable terms might I add, more than simple instructions or flippant opinion. They can inspire, persuade, bridge connections or destroy them. Words are important to me.
I realized in adulthood, most people don't do this, they don't prioritize words the same way I do.
Except for maybe a certain type of person,