Writing isn’t just one thing.
Writing is the first diary I had, covered with puppies and closed with an insecure lock. Inside, you’d find tales of Larry the Lobster, family car trips to Cracker Barrel on Easter, and a detailed account of my excitement that Jordan Allen finally got ISS.
Writing is the secret journal I had in middle school, hidden in my room with “Spanish” written on the cover so no one would be the wiser that all my feelings were inside. Inside, you’d find me gushing over boys and ranting about my best friend. You’d find word for word excerpts of text conversations from my crush I’d written down so that I’d have a copy of the conversation when I got a new phone.
Writing is an essay about a book I was assigned. Inside, you’d find five paragraphs- no more, no less. I’d have an introduction with a thesis statement that outlined my essay. Each paragraph would be at least 5-7 sentences. I’d end with a conclusion that reiterated what I said in the previous four paragraphs.
Writing is the daily journal prompt I had every day in 11th grade. Inside, you’d find my thoughts on the news, what animal I would be and why, the up-to-date band drama, and how my day was going. It was my guaranteed five minutes of freedom each day. I cherished it dearly.
Writing is the personal journal I wrote in before bed every night of my mission trips in Nicaragua. Inside, you’d find notes about all the people I met and how kind they were to us. You would also find my unfiltered thoughts, questions, and doubts. Why do I get a house and a car and a phone while these people don’t have shoes on their feet or walls in their home?
Writing is the small notes I wrote as trumpet section leader. Inside, you’d find a small piece of encouragement to each person in my section that I gave them before every marching band competition. One person posted a picture of one of his note years later and I got to hear how my kindness inspired him.
Writing is my first college research paper. Inside, you’d find a paper about how we can better serve the homeless community, because I got to choose my topic. You’d also find that it was way more than five paragraphs.
Writing is a controversial Facebook post with 62 comments. Inside, you’d find a very long, but thought-out rant by me about how no, having depression does not mean your faith isn’t strong enough. You’d also find a lot of back and forth, but no resolution.
Writing is my ongoing story about my Dungeons and Dragons character Mara. Inside, you’d find a detailed backstory that details the gruesome death of Mara’s parents that sent her on a quest for revenge. You’d also find lots of chaotic, yet organized notes of her journey that haven’t been translated into a narrative form yet.
Writing is so many things. It’s how I express myself. It’s how I work through my thoughts. It’s how I remember how I really felt in my memories. It’s how I remember the details of my past. It’s how I tell my stories, both real and imaginary. It’s how I make myself heard and how I’m seen.
Writing is large. It contains multitudes.
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