Writing is hard. I enjoy it, but I don't find it easy. I wish I did. I wish the words just flew out of my heart, into my head, and out through my swift moving fingers. Words and thoughts that verge on poetry are my ideal. The reality is nothing of the sort.
I end up sitting in front of a keyboard and just telling myself to write something. I have to choose to ignore the part of myself that screams: "You have nothing to say!" "No one will want to read what you write." "You must only say things that are important or beautiful." This, what you're reading right now, is neither important nor beautiful.
The thing, and this is what I am beginning to realize, is that I think I have to earn my place in this world. I can’t just share myself, without some attempt at profundity. The pressure of this thinking is exhausting and self defeating. The two ways I yearn to be profound is through beauty, or importance. I need to be or create something of beauty or importance. Well that should be easy enough (I say sarcastically). If I don't, then I haven't earned my place as an artist, or powerful woman.
A few days ago it was International Women's Day and I was playing with my Snapchat filters (as any grown ass woman does for fun). The three new filters were Frida Kahlo, Rosa Parks, and Madam Curie. Frida Kahlo created beauty and we remember her for her brilliance and vibrant paintings. Rosa Parks stood up for herself and defended her own value thereby elevating the importance of women and men who had been beaten down by the lie of racism. And Madam Currie, made new and revolutionary scientific discoveries. But me.... what I have to say is neither important nor beautiful, and certainly not revolutionary.
So here I sit, an average, twenty-first Century woman. I am not on verge of creating anything as boldly beautiful as Ms. Kahlo, nor can I compare my words to the simple brave defiance of Ms. Parks. I am not saying anything new or scientifically revelatory as Ms. Curie. I don't measure up. I haven't earned anything besides a profound sense of inadequacy.
So I shine my small torch at my small life and say, "hey, this is what I'm thinking." Perhaps what I say will be beautiful to some and maybe my words will ring with some importance to others, but I can't hope for that. The thing is, and here's what is difficult, it shouldn't matter. Whether or not my words make any dent in your imagination, is none of my concern. My only concern is making my truest and most authentic mark on this world. Yes, I want a big, profound life, but maybe this is what it needs to be: saying what is true, and letting my little light shine.