For the writer filled with self-doubt; it seems as though every other writer has known their entire life that they were born to write.
Like every kid, I lived in a world of my own creation. I crafted intricate stories for my dolls, went on adventures to imaginary lands, played chess with my friend Rainbow and imagined alternate realities for myself. I did not however know I wanted to tell stories for the rest of my life.
I have always loved to read, but I cannot say the same for writing. In school, my teachers always praised my work and I took the highest level English classes I could, but writing was never my passion. In fact, I used to dread writing assignments and felt as though my work was never up to par. I did not want to be a writer. I would complain to my mom saying, “I love to read, but I hate to write.”
When I was six I performed the Lindsay Show for my entire family to watch, swapping in and out of colorful wigs and various costumes. By age ten I went to my first Broadway musical and fell in love. At age fourteen I had one dream I went to Venus and was convinced I was going to be an astronaut. I even had my mom buy me a fancy telescope that resides untouched in our living room. Throughout freshman and sophomore year of high school I decided I should combine my love of adventure with my love of history (and my intense desire to visit Egypt) and become an archeologist. By junior year I had determined I should follow my passion and try to make it on Broadway.
With my path set there was only one thing left to do: find the best musical theatre programs, fill out the Common Application, and schedule auditions. Heading into my senior year, I thought I had it all figured out…until the cast list for the fall show came out. I was vice president of my theatre club, a senior, and admittedly, a favorite of my director. And yet I was cast in the ensemble. This was a turning point for me as I came to the realization that I simply was not talented enough to make it on the Great White Way.
Immediately I began to panic and wonder what my career would be and whether or not the schools I had applied to would be right for me. Amongst fear and anxiety about my future, there was one thing I found solace in, names. I found myself researching the meanings of names and crafting characters for them. For the first time in my life, there was a story inside me demanding to be unleashed. Never before had I written recreationally. Yet here I was, ending each day with an additional 2,000 words.
My new career path was set, and I was lucky enough to have Ithaca on my list of colleges. Not only is it a top-notch musical theatre school, but it also has an impressive creative writing program. One thing did gnaw at me though, and that was how new I was to writing. Most authors say they always knew they wanted to be a writer, but not me. Instantly I was filled with self-doubt, wondering if I had jumped head first into yet another career path that would inevitably fall through.
As the year rolled on and I shared my work in my A.P. English class, receiving, positive feedback from my teacher and peers, the self-doubt began to disappear. It did not matter that I was not one of those writers who had always known this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Whether I knew it or not, I was always a writer. The only difference was now I had a story I wanted to write and the motivation to write it. For those of you who have always wanted to be writers I envy the fact that you’ve had more time with your passion. For those of us who have recently decided to be writers, it’s important to remember we’ve always been writers; the only thing that’s changed is we’re now storytellers as well.
Lmao, I’m in my fourth year of university and going through an identity crisis now! Also, I’m obsessed with the last line of this post!
Literally me my senior year of high school and realizing I had only applied to theatre schools!