Reflecting Upon One Year of Blogging
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“Are writers made or born?” This was the question Jack Kerouac posed in 1962. His answer was both - anyone who is literate can write, but not everyone is born with the mind of a writer. In Kerouac's view, writers can be divided into either “Talents'' or “Geniuses'' - those who create using the tools others have given them, or those who forge their own tools. I am not going to categorize myself as either a “Talent” or a “Genius,” but one thing I have always been is a writer.
Writing has not been a hobby or a pastime for me, but an instinct. In moments of extreme pleasure or harrowing sorrow, my natural reaction is to pick up a pen, to spill the contents of my mind onto a page by mode of black ink. I think it was my mother who first encouraged me to keep a journal, which soon turned into five journals, then ten. I have records of nearly every day of my life dating back to the fourth grade. Those journals serve as the key to the inner mind of a young girl as she ages. It was a joy to sit down after a full day and write every detail I found to be important - the waffles I’d eaten for breakfast or the new sweater I’d bought that day - and every thought echoing within my mind. No matter the unexpected turns my life might take, I always had my journal, and I always had writing.
My adulthood was kicked off with a resounding bang - two weeks after my eighteenth birthday, I packed my life into two plastic bins and moved into my Freshman dorm on the hottest day of the year. Four walls of white cinderblock and zero air conditioning served as my warm welcome. The elevator creaked and groaned as it slowly crept up and down the building’s six stories, the shower dribbled lukewarm water, and nothing was as I’d expected it’d be. I’d fallen for the fairytale story they tell you about how college is the best time of your life. I'd anticipated ease and adventure only to be met with what were perhaps the worst moments of my entire life. The only thing that brought me any semblance of joy was my writing class. It was there that I could forget about the cinderblock and the heat, the elevator, and the shower, and create a world of my own on paper. While it was not enough to encourage me to maintain my enrollment, it was enough to change the plans I had carefully laid out for my life.
I wanted to be an actress. If I’m being honest, I think I will always want to be an actress, in the way that little girls want to be princesses. It’s a beautiful fantasy, but for me, it was much like sticking a square peg into a round hole. No matter how hard I pushed, it wasn’t going to fit. As I was grappling with that realization, I did what I always did - I took to writing. Once I had exhausted writing about my heart and my dreams, I began to write about the things I loved. Music, of course, took center stage.
It’s been officially one year since October 26th, 2021, when I published my first ever blog post - a rambly review of The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds. Not my best writing, that’s for certain, but in this scenario, it didn’t quite matter if I had used the most expansive words or had the most thought-provoking ideas. What mattered was that I had done it, I had put myself and my writing out there for all the world to see. I had fallen in love with writing all over again, and it has been vastly rewarding.
The kind of joy writing brings me, however, differs greatly from the unbridled joy that music has the ability to supply. My fondness for music cannot be understated. Everything I write comes more from the mind of a fan than a journalist, more from the heart than the brain. Music and musicians fascinate me endlessly, and in devoting so much of my time to learning about them, I have also uncovered many truths about myself. I think to connect with any work of art, whether it’s writing or music or a painting, is to momentarily merge souls with another and catch a glimpse of the way they see the world. When I listen to Bob Dylan’s brilliantly poetic lyrics or the spiritual songs of George Harrison, it is as if I am seeing through their eyes, and thus expanding my perception of any and everything. But, perhaps more importantly, music is, more often than not, sheer fun. It is the most enjoyable expression of the human experience, capturing moments and ideas in bits of childlike whimsy. I love it with every fiber of my being.
Three hundred and sixty-five days later, the seemingly minuscule decision I made to create a blog has proven to be life-changing. It’s funny how things work out that way, how one small act can change your entire life. I am quick to compare myself to others and undermine my successes, but in this area, I could not be more proud. Not only have I grown as a writer, but as a person. I have gained a wealth of knowledge, musical and otherwise, made invaluable connections, and made quite the dent for one nineteen-year-old girl - I am infinitely grateful.
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