Write Here, Write Now

A renewed commitment to writing.

Why do I want to write?

It’s been a gnawing interest for quite some time, as I mentioned in my very first post. I wanted to be a blogger for the longest time (back in college is the earliest I can remember) and have dabbled in fits and starts over the years.

I never really thought twice about why I was drawn to the activity, but rather just felt a yearning so deep that it just didn’t make sense to me to question it. Especially when this yearning never left me over the years. 

As I got older and blogs slowly fell out of fashion in favor of the now-trending newsletter format, I cared less about exploring my interest in fashion via a lifestyle blog and more about the concept of writing to make sense of the world.

This was something I had felt deep down—I just assumed that if I were to take writing seriously and give it a persistent attempt, I would learn something about myself.

It wasn’t until I came across this Joan Didion quote, “I don't know what I think until I write it down,” that it really clicked for me.¹

I’m drawn to this art because it’s a way for me to make sense of the world and how I relate to it. Sure, I know this on some level, but as an extroverted, external processor I find that I understand my opinions and thoughts best when given the chance to talk through them out loud. Writing, then, is another way to externally express myself, be it via private journaling or public posting.

I spend my days looking at numbers and formulas and putting words to them to make sense of something. To tell a story. It seems only fitting, then, to do that with my own life and experiences.

Admittedly, I also love the contrast of numbers and words. We’re taught to think that someone is left-brained or right-brained, favoring one over the other. Well I say screw that because I’d like to think there’s room for both. We are multi-dimensional creatures, after all. Why do we limit ourselves with such labels?

There’s beauty in being able to combine the two. Some of the best writers I know are extremely logical, analytical thinkers, which lends itself well to explaining one’s point. Perhaps the literary character is less prevalent or missing altogether, but does that make them any less of a writer? I think not.

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I’ve been hard on myself when I write these posts because I hold myself to high standards, am my own worst critic, and know I could make a better product if I just keep editing. But that is not the point here, is it?

I set out to center this Substack around themes of “conscious consumption,” as those are the topics that largely fill my headspace these days. While I think I’ve been successful in doing so, I am also finding that I am craving more reflective writing. Does this mean less consumption-oriented topics? Maybe. Maybe not.

Consumption is personal, after all. But in processing all the things I’m thinking about these days, I am finding it more freeing to be able to write whatever it is that calls to me in a given week. 

One of the hardest parts of committing to this writing practice is holding myself to the Sunday deadline I’ve set for myself when I don’t have something written in advance.

In reading some of my favorite personal essay Substack publications, I can’t help but think their authors sit down to write and get it all out perfectly in one fell swoop. Maybe that is the case with some, but maybe they edit it across sessions too. Who knows? And who cares?

What matters is noticing what works for me. I know that when I leave myself only Sunday to get out a post, I feel (self-imposed) pressure to perform and therefore less free. (Such as now while I am writing these very words. I am struggling, to be honest, and wish I had done this yesterday when my inspiration was fresh.) 

But in honor of persistence and building the muscle, I am committed to publishing this tonight. For me. For the sake of showing up.

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When I started this endeavor last August and told a couple people I set a weekly publishing goal for myself, I received a couple comments about how ambitious that goal was. 

I remember feeling slightly offended—“what, do they not think I can do this!?” But in looking back now, I realize that that was my own inner critic talking. I set a weekly goal because I knew it was ambitious. But I also believed it was achievable. Enough of a stretch to keep me hustling, but not so crazy that it wouldn’t be possible.

Over the course of the remaining 19 weeks of the year (starting from my first post in August 2023), I published something in 13 of those weeks. That’s over two-thirds of the time, so more often than not. While it’s less than I had hoped to achieve, it’s still progress. And more importantly, it’s proof. Proof that I am capable of committing to a writing practice if I take it seriously. And I am damn proud of it because it’s the most I have ever done for myself. 

So now here I sit, one week into 2024 and dreaming what’s possible. Do I have what it takes to publish 52 posts this year? Do I want to commit to that? What might happen if I do? 

Better yet, what might happen if I start sharing this more broadly? If I fully own it?

I feel called to do so, especially because of my 2024 intentions and in service of building the connection I am craving. For that’s another reason I feel compelled to write, I’ve only just realized. To connect with others. To know that I’m not alone with these thoughts.

It may very well be that no one responds, or that no one cares. That is a tough pill to swallow but something I feel I must try. For it would be a dishonor to myself if I don’t. 

Stay tuned while I muster up the courage. (And if you have any to spare, send it my way, would ya? 💛)

1. If this sounds familiar, it’s because I quoted it in last week’s post too. I’m currently rereading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic, in which she references Didion’s line—that and Gilbert’s nuggets of wisdom are pure gold!