Everyone has their niche. Many people have a subject in which they excel at, or a sport where they always come out on the top of the leaderboard. Some people have a craft, a hobby, or a hands on activity where they are able to demonstrate their gifts in physical forms. I, however, have always claimed my speciality to be writing.
Growing up, I always had my nose wedged deep into a book. I would rise with the sun and sit on my leather couch, reading Because of Winn Dixie to my pet beagle in a southern accent. I was fascinated with the English alphabet and all the ways you could string it together to make a plethora of meanings. With my interest established, I decided to take my own go at writing, and from there I never stopped. I even have a pencil indent on my ring finger from years of putting pen to paper to prove it.
When I was nine years old, I wrote my own picture book about a fictional depiction of the Winter Olympic games. I brought my stapled stack of papers to school, hoping to share my hard work with anyone who would listen. Thankfully, my third grade teacher always fostered my love for English Language Arts. She allowed me to sit in her fancy chair, and read my story to the rest of my classmates. From that moment on, my dream of becoming a bestselling author seemed less like fantasy and more like a prophecy I was destined to fulfill.
Writing has always taken a natural spot in my life. When I was experiencing some of my lowest moments, my love for writing sat with me, offering comfort until I felt ready to move forward. My admiration for writing stems across many different forms of the craft: prose, poetry, fiction, articles, and even essays. The ability to transcribe my thoughts into tangible emotions and scenery has been such a blessing to me as I navigate through the course of my life.
I lean on writing like one would to a bad habit, and trust me I do still have bad habits. However, writing is cathartic. It’s the way I am able to understand parts of me that get so muddled in the everyday motions of my existence. Sometimes, people spend a large chunk of their life trying to find their purpose. I’m more than happy to admit that mine lies between sheets of paper and pens with dried up ink.
No matter what adventures I find myself in, I know there will always be a written retelling that goes along with it. I write because it grounds me. I write because it heals me. I write because when nothing else seems to make sense, it’s the one part of me that I never have to question. So no matter what your talent, hobby, or niche is, I hope it holds as much meaning to you as writing does to me.