One year ago this week, I launched my blog. One year ago this week, I convinced myself to set aside my fears, because the world wasn’t going to wait for me to get over them, and I’m happy I didn’t wait, either. One year ago this week, my hands shook as I clicked “publish” for the first time… And they still do to this day, because that’s just not something I think I’ll ever get over.
It’s truly an understatement to say that I’ve been incredibly blessed throughout my life, and that includes the feedback I’ve received regarding my writing. I am constantly humbled by the kind words and the encouragement offered, even if I can’t fully stop being my own worst critic. As a writer, I can be ruthless with myself. I read and edit everything a billion times before setting it free into the world, always worried I might be misinterpreted. The latter is included in the list of fears I’ve carried with me for most of my life. I’m still working on it!
Starting a project and seeing it through is incredibly rewarding on many levels, but this one is especially close to my heart because I really do believe that I was born to write (among other things, of course). In one of the earliest memories I have of myself, I was sitting at a little Fisher-Price desk with a brand new notebook open to the first page, and I vividly remember thinking “I am going to be a writer.” That was that. No questions, no hesitations. I was no more than four years old. To me, that’s something special.
There have been times throughout this past year in which I’ve had to explain my words to people that have thought I was writing about them. In some cases, I was, in others, I wasn’t, but both types of instances helped open my eyes to the impact my words can have. I never know who they will reach, or how they will be digested. Thankfully, I haven’t lost a single friend over them, and I plan on keeping it that way.
What never ceases to amaze me, though, is that there are people that have freely chosen to follow my blog, meaning they receive an email every single time I post new content. I find it mindblowing that others would care so much about the musings of a stranger, yet I wouldn’t trade it for the world. In a way, it makes me feel part of a community that genuinely appreciates what I love the most: writing. For those followers that I do know (a few of which I even see every day), please be aware that I think of you every single time I’m about to click that “publish” button, and I can’t help but ask myself, without fail, “will they like it?”
On another note, there are quite a few people that have impacted my life immensely of whom I’ve never written, and I would like to change that. However, there are challenges and consequences to this, and it may alter how they think of me. I feel very deeply for these people; it’s a distinct type of love for each one of them that I’m not sure I’ll be able to capture and express adequately, nor am I even sure they’re ready to read about it. Alas, that is part of the risk involved, and I may just have to take it, regardless.
One thing is certain, though: I’ll be toasting this entire week to the angels currently in my life that have supported me through it all and who continuously urge me on, not just with my writing, but most importantly, with my dreams. Like I said in my last post, each one of you is my personal miracle, and I will never be able to thank you enough for all that you have done and continue to do. There are no words worthy of you, but even if they fall short, let me repeat them one more time: Thank you, gracias, gràcies, grazie, obrigada, danke, merci.
Y a Vos por sobre todo, gracias Padre.
Photo: Belén Alemán / Bay End Farm in Cape Cod, Massachusetts, USA