I am a shy, modest, and independent person; always have been and, probably always will be. I never speak my mind, keep my feelings to myself, and would rather sit back in silence than voice my opinion. That’s where writing comes in. A person that I hardly recognize comes out- a complete 360 from who I display to the public.

Whether it be writing my most personal stories in my journal for my eyes only or the ones I choose to share with thousands of strangers, it’s how I find peace in the jumbled mess that is my mind. Some may call it my sanctuary, my therapist, or a hobby, but it’s much more than all of those things to me- it’s a part of who I am and how I describe myself.

As far back as I can remember, in elementary school, I would go to the library and write stories. In middle school, I was probably the only excited on in my English class when our teacher told us we had to do daily journal entries at the start of every class (a journal that I still have to this day, might I add). Then, I started to see myself and my voice in my writings develop in my high school English classes. And now I want to do it as my future career- despite the non-stop questioning from others around about how journalist do not make a very great salary.

But, when you’re doing something that you love so much that you identify with it, nothing else really matters. I can’t see myself sitting in a cubical for eight hours a day. Sure, one of those jobs could make me more money than being a writer, but I want to be one of those people who wake up every day with a sense of undeniable exuberance to go to work (honestly, I’m not even sure I’d classify doing what I love everyday as work). And as for the pay, that’s just icing on the cake.

My decision to be a writer wasn’t solidified one day in my high school English class when we had an assignment about our future career; it’s been a part of who I am and how I identify myself.