In all honesty, I'm not sure why I am so drawn to telling stories and sharing my perspective. Sure, I liked to read as a kid. But I never wrote lavish stories or dreamed of being an author. I wanted to be a teacher when I was young. I gave up on that because there is hardly any money in it.
When I picked my major, the first thought that came to mind was interior design. On my first day of classes, I knew that it didn't suit me. I remember walking through campus, scrolling on my phone for potential majors, when I saw professional writing. I don't even remember why I picked it; I just knew something clicked. I didn't even get to take a writing class until two years later (aka this year). Now I am learning so much and finding myself questioning why I love it.
Maybe it's because I want something to outlive me when I die. If I am ever published, my work will hopefully still be around when I'm gone. My family can read my stories and feel like I'm there with them. Or it might be the thought of writing something that sits with a person so heavily. I can transport people away from this world for just a few hours with my words. I can offer that relief, like many authors did with me. Or maybe I like the idea of being able to change someone's mind with just a few pages. I could have a chance to change someone's perspective on a variety of things: life, politics, the world, and even their imagination.
Writing is one of the most beautiful arts. It can be so moving and complex that it brings tears to one's eyes in happiness or sadness. I believe I could do that one day. I might not have been churning out exuberant poems or challenging essays as a child, but I still have time to do all that. I think I write because I have so much to share with the world. My anger and sadness, along with my hope and joy. I know someone out there will read my works someday and feel those emotions, and that would be enough for me.
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