A former teenage author turned twenty and her stabs at writing life and living to write.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Words to Define By

What kinds of things do we hold up in front of us, layering shield upon shield? Things we associate with who we are. They usually begin with I am. I am eighteen. I am a writer. I am a dreamer. Even as I try to fill in a list of I am's, I have difficulty saying what I am. I'm used to saying I love to or I have a passion for, or even my life often revolves around. And it's not the same, isn't right. Before long, if we pile on a list of things we love or places we've been, it means little unless we know who we are during all those events.

This is a short blog, just a musing, but I was filling out a profile page for a new account on a writing website and I wrote as my first sentence, I am eighteen. Does the fact that I'm eighteen define me? Yes, the fact that I write as much as I do and with such neurotic habitualness that I do... yes, I believe that says something about me. But alone eighteen means very little. It's a number. Nothing more. So, here I will try to create a list of I am's, things that build the fabric of my soul. (Yes, that IS cheesy, but I am cheesy)

I am eighteen
I am an author
I am a dreamer
I am cheesy
I am a leg-jostler
I am an artist (at heart, and NEVER on canvas)
I am a musician
I am a song writer
I am a laugher (yes, that sounds weird)
I am a crier (that too)
I am a dancer (only in my kitchen with a wooden spoon microphone)
I am a reader

And yet, these mean little in comparison to the most important I am's.

I am a daughter
I am a sister
I am an aunt
I am a friend

I am someone who writes these extremely strange blogs and somehow gets you all to read them!!

No, but really... Who are we all?

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