About self-esteem when you’re 24, and writing

I can’t help comparing myself to my more successful peers, especially females. When I come across some super cool chick’s name on Facebook, I usually go to her page and look up her age. And then I see that they mostly are elder than me by a couple or more years. It makes me feel better. And then I remind myself that there is no point in trying to try on one’s success. Because we are all different, luckily. And there is something about me which no one else on this planet has. And it goes for everyone. And it comforts me a lot. Sometimes, this truth even inspires me and gives me strength to move forward. But there has never been a single time when these wise thoughts came first.

Coluche by an unknown (to me) photographer

What I want to be is a writer. I’ve always been more interested in observing and analysing than actually living through a moment. And I’ve always wanted to be a writer because I’ve always had this feeling that I’ve been collecting memories as treasures in a jar for the future. I couldn’t tell why I would need them, but I felt my mind working as a warehouse.

As I’ve already said, writing has always fascinated me. But I’ve never had guts to pursue it. First, I had a school to be perfect and standard for, then the same happened when I attended university. But it’s been almost two years since I graduated and finally I’m starting feeling like my carefully hidden and silenced myself. And it feels lovely.

I have not accomplished anything truly spectacular yet as a writer, or anything else, actually. But I hope someday people will be feeling related to my books. This is one of the best things which can happen to me.

Writing gives me the way to be in two places simultaneously. While my body is somewhere in a room or at a cafe, my mind is totally in the text I’m writing at the moment. And this is one of the biggest joys for me.

Writing is splendid. It gives you a chance to make up anything — and I mean it, anything — you want. In your own world you can be a painter, a dancer, a cook, you can wear shoes or a dress you can’t afford in reality. You can go places no one else could go, no one else have been to. You can come up with a whole new world. You can live many lives while writing. Cause in your baby-text anything is possible — anything. Even if it’s something breaking the nature’s laws.

You can be totally honest when you write. If you are too scared to be judged for your honesty, you can always hide behind your characters. I know, it sounds kind of cowardy — and in my case it is true. I am a coward in some cases, to be honest. And I’m looking for a way to escape the reality. But this is still not the main reason for writing.

It may seem writers create something to please their audience. And this is true, no arguing here. But it is only partially true. Writers write because they can’t do otherwise. They write to please themselves. When you are able to find a perfect word which renders your idea the best possible way — it is such a joy. It’s a natural high, as Cristina of Grey’s Anatomy would say. It is. And what is really convenient about this calling is that you find your plots and characters by just looking around and being a little bit more attentive than the others. And that’s it. If you have it, you have it.

I see a writer as a meat-mincing machine. You load it with meat and in the end you eat cutlets. So, a writer is someone who sees the world in a certain way and is able to create a new reality out of the outer world reality by just thinking about it. And rendering it, of course.

I guess being a writer is a state of mind, cause you can’t just turn it off. You are always on, observing. You are constantly perceiving and interpreting. You are not a mirror which reflects the reality. Neither are you a glass which just lets it through. No, you are a portal, a gate to a new world — your world — which adds up to what already exists as an objective reality, history, news — anything which some call a culture, or a human-made world.

Isn’t it lovely to be arrogant enough to think you can bring some joy to this world by doing what you love to do? I’ll see how it goes.