ϟ RE: heART. [a confession]

“I want to write.”
“So like … a journalist?”
“…. No.” 

My first memory of writing is when I was in 3rd Grade, eight years old, and in addition to math, history, etc, we had a writing class — thirty or so minutes of pure writing. It was then, sitting in a classroom with the bright, big world ahead of me, I discovered what I was really good at, and more importantly, what I truly loved.

Over the years I’ve struggled with wanting to do this, with knowing that people I looked up to would disapprove, knowing that it would sometimes be hard and that I might find some easier-to-grab “success” being a business major.
In the past year, particularly in the past four months, however, it’s gotten to be a stronger need, more than just a want. I’ve always known, deepdeepdeep down in my little soul, that I want to be a writer. Whatever that means.
But I never knew how much I needed it until recently.

A friend of mine led me to “Letters to a Young Poet”, a compilation of letters written by Rainer Maria Rilke. He asked me to please read them (here’s another thank you forever), because I was feeling down about everything, and even though I didn’t know it, I needed more than anything else to read what Rilke had to say.
In that first letter, I came across this: 

This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? 

It was the most silent hour of my night.

And I must.

<3C