I'm starting a blog.
Obviously.
It's something that's always been in the back of my mind, something I've always thought about. Often, I would fantasize entire posts in my head, have the wording just right, and ultimately decide that these little gems of wisdom that I manage to think up are nothing more than shiny things that momentarily distract me from the dull reality that is my life.
But my life is only as dull as I make it, and lately, I've decided that I'm not okay with not experiencing life. For the last few weeks, I've truly been stretching myself in the way that I act and think, and even if no one out of the 7 billion people on this planet ever read a word of this blog, I stepped out of the shadows and created it and wrote in it, and I'm proud of myself for doing that. I've been hiding inside of myself for too long. At the end of the day, what makes me truly happy is writing and exploring my own psyche by figuring out the precise words to capture what makes me, me.
My blog title comes from something my sixth grade reading teacher, Mrs. Mary North, had posted on a bulletin board in the back of our classroom. Writers read and readers write. There should probably be a comma in there, but it looks prettier without it. She also wrote it in a journal that she gave me later and encouraged me to take hold of my dream of being an author. In the years since then, I've written countless pieces of prose and poetry, but have always been uncomfortable sharing them for fear of being judged, or worse, criticized.
I'm not afraid anymore.
I can't promise that I'll post often, or that what I manage to post will make any sense. I can't promise that anyone who does bother to read will agree with me, or find me funny or relevant or even a good writer. But I can promise myself that I am worth something, and that I am capable. Of what, I'm not entirely sure yet. But I am capable.
I'm leaping, and I'm confident my net will appear. Just not sure what form that net will take.
