I saw a question pass through my Twitter feed yesterday: “When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

It is something that we have often thought about and probably have been asked a million times. I still think it is still fun to think about the dreams we had for ourselves at such an innocent time before many of us even experienced what it is like to try to achieve those goals. I was going to answer that day, but, as happens in adulthood, and in pandemic times, I got distracted and had almost forgotten about it. Then, as I sat down to write tonight – I remembered it! Mainly because this new commitment to writing for this new and improved blog has recharged me and this exercise has very much reminded me what it was I really wanted to do “when I grew up” – I wanted to be a writer.

I imagined I would work for a small local newspaper, interviewing interesting people around town and telling their stories. In my spare time, I would write novels and screenplays, maybe even song lyrics. I did write for the school paper in high school and college, kept numerous journals, and wrote short stories and poetry. Since I could be shy at times, writing was something that helped me to really communicate with people. But also, writing gave me an opportunity to inform people on topics or subjects, to make people think about things in a different light, and to motivate others to feel emotions that maybe they weren’t even sure how to express.

In high school, I had a teacher who for some reason just did not like me. I know that may sound a bit silly, but, whatever it was, he would always seem to put additional obstacles in my way or cut me down. A perfect example was our winter break assignment to choose one book from a long list to be our “project,” I was trying to figure out what it was he wanted from me, so I asked him if he thought there was a book on the list that maybe suited me. He chose “For Whom The Bell Tolls’ by Ernest Hemmingway. I was excited that maybe I could finally prove to him I knew what I was doing! But day after day, trying to read that daunting, almost 500-page book was so discouraging. There were days when I knew I had a long stint to catch up on, and I would ask my mom to check on me if I fell asleep (which surprisingly, she was happy to do, but sadly she had to wake me up a few times). But I did it! I read the entire miserable thing.

Don’t get me wrong – Hemmingway can be a great author, and this book is one of his best. But I was just so not interested in the subject matter at all. I most certainly did not care for the “politics” in the book and the way it portrayed women, but then again, that isn’t in the time it was written. And many people revere the book and the author, so this is not meant to be a debate on that here (but you are welcome to reach out to me here or on Twitter anytime and we can discuss). The point was I made it through and wrote the 7-page essay (yes in tenth grade) that I thought covered all aspects and didn’t show my disdain, I received a C+ – one of the lowest grades I ever received on writing at the time. I was deflated but quickly remembered that I met his challenge and survived. Maybe I could do more? I joined the school newspaper and quickly had many assignments. I covered everything from our local school bands to the controversies surrounding our PTA and School Superintendent. I almost felt like I was going where I needed to be.

I remember once meeting with him, even after my first article came out, about one of my literary essay assignments and he asked me a similar question that I write about now, “What do you want to do as a career?” I smiled, thinking maybe I was making some progress and said “I would like to be a journalist or writer.” He smiled, shook his head, and simply stated, “Well, I think you should reconsider that one – You will never make it.” I didn’t even know what to say – I was completely stunned. I never stopped writing, luckily, but it was something that stuck with me and I always will wonder if it is something that really did change my mind and choice of career. But I did indeed still send him a few of the articles that I wrote for my college newspaper as a dig.

So, here I am – writing once again, much to his chagrin. I am back on track and I have even thought more about writing that novel again. I know I am not the best writer in the world, but I know I am good. I know people are interested in what I have to say, at least so far. Heck, I have even won some local awards for blogging and writing. I take those with a grain of salt, but they do boost my spirits and tell me silently, “YOU GO, GIRL!” Accolades are great, but they are so hard to come by and not really the motivation for my writing. First and foremost, I hope to reach people who feel they do not have a voice and help them to find theirs. Or maybe at least just let them know they are not alone. And second, yes, I do hope for some validation in my own experience – that I am not alone. Connections are so much more important now than ever, and I hope all of you feel comfortable enough to read things here, whether you agree or not, whether you like them or not, that this is a safe place. Once people stop reading, maybe I will stop writing. Until then, you are all stuck with me.