Lately, my life has been full of changes. Perhaps, this is a consequence of being young. Every day, I discover new things about myself. New opportunities, new perspectives, new personality traits.
Today I took the day off. Changes were getting overwhelming. I needed to meditate, align my actions with my dreams. In the middle of such reflection, an idea became clear: “I’m a writer”.
Writing is something that I do every day, and I enjoy it quite a lot. Compared to other hobbies, it is not something that I do for an end goal. I enjoy the sheer process of portraying ideas in a beautiful manner. Writing is a special activity. It helps me think, understand, decompress.
Despite writing every day, I wasn’t considering myself a writer. I was missing something, what would make me feel like a true writer?
In the pursuit of answers, I wrote, for hours. Simple questions evolved into philosophy, and I started to lose my head. Like most questions, the simplest answer is usually the right one.
My problem was that I kept all the writing to myself. I was being egoist and naive. I think art is a mean to express who you are. This expression of mine was asking to be shared freely.
Today’s world is full of noise. Mindless posts and fake news are broadly expanded. It’s awful.
Personally, I might not hold the power to change the world. My only hope is that my essays would bring thoughtfulness and beauty into this noisy world.
Thanks for your time.