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Fuck yes, you’re a writer
While in a Lyft yesterday, a passenger, let’s call her Alarm, asked me what I do for a living. I hesitated. The voice in my brain for the millionth time doubted: “You’re not a real writer, you can’t even write this book.” I responded:
“At the moment I am figuring out what’s next. Every day I write, and I often share, but I don’t think I qualify as a writer, you know I have not written a book.”
Alarm seemed to have picked up on my hesitation and then turned to me “alarmed” and said:
“Fuck yes, you’re a writer. You write every day. What else do you need? A certificate?”
This is what I like to a call a wakeup moment, almost always brought to you by a stranger. This stranger is an Alarm.
I woke up today, with Alarm’s voice in my head.
Starting today:
Fuck yes I am a writer
Fuck yes I am a poet
Fuck yes I am writing this book
Fuck yes I am going to write every day
Fuck yes this book will be in your hands in 12 months
And fuck yes I am making money being a writer
All this time, I was dismissive of the idea that I can be a full-time writer. What I came to realize is my making myself small is simply a…
