an inner voice makes itself heard

Something my reporting professor said in early September made me realize I want to be a writer.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. But the funny thing about that desire is that it’s under the heavier ones. Ones like having a job and having people understand what it means to do the work you do.

I’m learning a lot in j-school. How to have integrity, how to tell the facts, why I can’t extrapolate—even though so much of being human is extrapolating.

Writing is extrapolating—reflecting, musing, trying to find the meaning I believe is hidden underneath all of my experiences. I can’t do that in journalism. That’s not to say journalism doesn’t have its place. I think it does. But there are ways it removes humanity from the equation. (Or at least it removes it enough that makes me question if we are taking away an integral part of writing.)

I should’ve known a lot sooner. Or should have acknowledged it sooner. There have been comments made and I live in the world of words, but now I’m kind of wishing I went for a MFA (Only slightly, but still).

If I wrote for impact alone, I’d never write. I write for myself and maybe it’s pretty selfish to ask to get paid to do so. I started this blog because I had a burning desire inside me for years to blog, to write in this way. Personally and intimately. And I love that I’ve grown in my ability to reflect and have been honing that voice for years. I want to get better at writing all the details down, at making you feel like you’re in the room with me as I set the scene. I know that I’ve got room to grow, but I want to do the work.

I think inside of us, there is a voice longing to be heard. 

It doesn’t look the same for everyone. Maybe for you it’s writing. Or it’s an Etsy shop you’ve kept like a hidden dream underneath all of your responsibilities. Could be a dream of reaching out to an old loved one or some other thing.

I’m not making the case that you should throw away your life for that small voice. (Unless it’s a pearl hidden in a field. Then by all means, be wise.) This is just a PSA to pay attention. I often find myself writing the same messages over and over, and I think that’s because there are still people (like myself) that need to hear it. 

We need to hear that the voices within us have something to say. 

My voice needed to remind me of the part of the process I love. The words. Yes, I do love talking to people (although talking to strangers is the gamble of the reporting life). But the words refresh me. They center me. The words slow me down and point me in the right direction. If I do the work of getting to know people and asking questions where I really have to listen, then the words will flow.

There’s a song by Sara Bareilles (fantastic songwriter!) called Little Voice. It goes, “and if you’re listening, sometimes a little voice, can say the biggest things.” It’s a piano ballad that feels so Bareilles that her voice shines. You should listen to the little voice inside you.

Even if you think you don’t have room to explore it right now. Even if you think it doesn’t matter. 

We are so quick to discount the desires that are deep within us. Whether it’s shame or fear, we are often unable to name what these voices are whispering. And the picture of our past defeats is always in the back of our minds, imprinted on our eyelids as we go to sleep. There is a reality of failure. Anyone who says otherwise is lying to you. Failure is a scary, painful thing. 

I know that it’s so much easier to make your world louder by focusing on your responsibilities and the needs of the people around you. But I give you permission to listen to the little voice. Even if all you do is name the desire within you.

Back to being a writer.

I’m not sure what this desire means. Or what’s it’s “supposed” to mean. I’ve only acknowledged it. On a train headed home after class, as it curved down the tracks erratically, I acknowledged my desire to write. I haven’t committed to writing a book or essays or anything crazy at all. Just a singular acknowledgment. And I think that’s enough. 

Though my desire to do any hard news is waning as I continue j-school, I’m finding out more and more about longer form narrative work and meeting people who are doing that work. I like writing that has taken time to saturate and mature. That’s less about the hard facts and more about exploring blurred lines. There are so many stories I want to tell and so many ways to tell them.

That part hasn’t changed. But maybe the way I’ve defined myself has. And that’s okay.

Signing off,

Gigi

Any little voices inside you begging to be heard? Share with me what your heart is musing on.