I’m a writer.
To celebrate my 48th birthday, my mom posted on her Facebook page a photograph of my first published piece of writing from 1992.
It was a sign. The universe was confirming for me that the nagging voice in my head that has been telling me to ‘get on with it’ (with ‘it’ being my writing) needed to be taken seriously now.
One of my first published articles was when I was 17 after returning home from a trip I had won in high school. It was my first trip without my family to backpack across 6 countries in Europe (France, Switzerland, Germany, Austria, former Czechoslovakia, and Poland). Sponsored by the Archdiocese of Toronto (I attended a Catholic high school), the two-and-a-half-week trip included a 100km pilgrimage to the Sixth World Day of Youth in Czestochowa, Poland that year to see the Pope with 1 million other youth from around the world.
My account of that trip was published in a magazine and in the newspaper. Ok, it was a Catholic magazine, and the paper was the local Free Press in little Midland, Ontario.
But this post isn’t really about that trip. It’s about writing.
Growing up, I’ve always been told I was a good writer. Actually, a great writer. As an avid reader, I knew words came to me easily and I enjoyed the process of creating the right word combinations to elicit a feeling, spark curiosity and trigger ‘aha’ moments. I even considered becoming a journalist.
I’ve never called myself a writer though. I never felt I was really good enough to earn that label— it was always just a ‘strong skill’ that happened to benefit me in my life and career.
On New Year’s Day 2022 as I set my intentions for the year, I decided to start explicitly claiming myself to be a writer. It was uncomfortable and “imposter-syndrom-y.” But it didn’t feel wrong.
I’m only realizing going into my 49th year that this is a potential stream of income I’ve completely ignored (or maybe avoided?) my whole life. All the times I was asked to ‘write something’ as a favour — a eulogy, a maid of honor speech for a friend, edit a resume or write an assertive (sometimes ‘intelligently aggressive’) email to convince a neglectful vendor of delivering on their promises — I was happy to share my skill for free.
It was only in a recent conversation that I had with a business mentor that I had an epiphany. Actually, it was more like much-needed validation — that I have a skill that has real monetary value. I have taken for granted my ability to write well (and write quickly) and didn’t believe anyone would pay me for it. I didn’t go to school for it, nor did I have any official ‘writing credentials’. I simply believed that I wasn’t as talented as the “real writers.” The authors, freelancers, the journalists, the published.
Until I was reminded by my mom’s posting that I am a published writer.
So let this be Day 1. It is the first day I publicly announce that I am a writer. And I’m open for business. Join me on this journey — there’s more to come.
