I was asked to write about myself. This is what came out. I hope I can keep you reading until the end. 🙂
I’ve been telling stories for as long as I can remember. But they were always other people’s stories, never my own. There is a certain satisfaction that comes along with sharing the most interesting snippets of life with another, especially with someone who otherwise would have never heard them.
I have a knack for making listening to a story worthwhile – not over-dramatic or sensationalized, but instead, elevating the ordinary to the extraordinary, simply by telling the thing. A shared secret betrayed by a look between two supposed strangers, a man smiling to himself as he unlocks the key to conquering the day’s crossword, or an extended hand of help to an elderly woman as she steps off a city bus are moments worth recounting. This sentiment, when applied on a larger scale, is what we do for the mass media.I suppose that’s why I became a journalist. I suppose that is also why I find it so hard to tell my own story.Finding the beauty, significance, and tragedy in the world – and telling those who pursue the truth about the world about it – is our charge. We are a voice, for those who wish to read, to listen, to see. But what significance do we have in this place, what significance do I have?
I have always been good at everything, but never exceptional at one thing. School, dance, conversation, anything at all, I could always figure out the best way to do things for me, understand why others had to do things their own way, and compensate from there. But I never really had one thing that people knew me for – I was never that girl. I think this is a good thing, not to be pigeon-holed. It brings character to my identity.
Issues in my life always have a way of resolving themselves – working out for the best – no matter what predicament I might get myself into. I work hard, but recognition for that work is rare. Nurturing the relationships I have in my life, with family, friends, contemporaries, and significant others, is my most important task.I want to enjoy the little snippets of my life as well as I can. I want to learn about people in parts of the world I’ve never been exposed to.
I have convictions about what’s going on in society today, and I want to make them known, in that quiet, unassuming way that I do. If one cannot be a considerate, decent human being, they have no place prancing about society making other lives worse. Injustice is something that should not occur. Corrupt politics should not be allowed. Ignorance is laziness, and with so many sources of information all around us, there is no excuse for not trying to understand.But voicing my opinion is not something I do carelessly. It must be earned, pulled from guarded, objective mystery into the light of discourse.
My parents raised me to believe that waste is unacceptable, when it comes to food, money, or time, waste is not an option. I apply this lesson to every part of my life. Relationships, work, even having a good time, must be approached with my full attention, and l cannot waste one minute of my life. I must take full advantage of every opportunity that comes my way, or else I cannot be happy with myself.
I want to write. I want others to feel something when they read my writing, to become invigorated by it, or just to feel satisfied by it. I want to feel like I’ve made some small difference with my work, with my life. Perhaps that is the only role I am meant to play. Perhaps that is the most important role I am meant to play.