When people that I have just met ask me what I do, I proudly state that I am a writer. There is often the blank stare or the nervous, twitchy smile because “everyone is writing the next big novel.” I don’t always share that I actually get paid to write. That I am not hanging out in coffee jobs idly passing the time waiting for the next big idea to pop in my head. Not saying that is a bad thing, but it is not my process. Often it is met with mild curiosity or simply dismissed.
If I have learned anything in the forty-nine years that I have been hanging around this planet, is that I can’t live my life for anyone else. Presenting the unabridged version of myself isn’t without its obstacles. Not everyone is appreciative or understanding of what drives my way of living or thinking. Relationships evaporate or stall which is a necessity for anyone to grow, learn, and be outrageously who you are meant to be.
I no longer wish to conform. It’s tedious and cumbersome. So I wear my badge of writing with others. Sure, it can be intimidating when in the midst of what society deems successful, but there are a variety of ways to be a success. Most aren’t measured by your bank account or your title. It merely comes down to the type of person you are. Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do or how much money you have because when it comes down to it, we are all humans just trying to survive. Abandon the labels and simply show up. Life is meant to be lived without being ashamed.