An Epiphany...Of Sorts

Thank you to all of you for reading and commenting on my last post. I felt a lot better after writing that and you saved me thou$ands in therapy costs. As we are all poor folk these days, anything to save a little money is very much welcomed. 


10 years ago, when I graduated from high school and started college (sweet mother of Elvis, has it really been that long?) I already had decided what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a journalist. I was going to be on TV and was set to take over Barbara Walters' job on 20/20. There was no doubt in my mind that Diane Sawyer was going to eat my dust. It was going to be awesome. Oprah wouldn't be able to hold a candle to me. I knew I was meant to be a reporter and to be in front of the camera. Take that, Katie Couric!


My plan was going along just perfectly until one day, in 2003 at the University of Utah, I had an epiphany. I was in the middle of my magazine writing class when I started to laugh. And as I started to laugh, it slowly turned into a sob. A full-on-I-want-my-mommy sob. I hated journalism. I hated the classes, I hated the writing, and most of all, I hated that teacher that had just ripped my article apart because "she didn't understand why anyone would write something like that." It was an article about teenage girls in abusive relationships and the signs to look for. She said it made women look weak and that no real woman would allow herself to be in that situation. I wanted to walk up to her, all 4 1/2 feet of her, sit on her face, make a flarty, and not get up until the stink went away. (I know, it's a little graphic, but you should hear the desires I have to stab a current co-worker in the jaw with my pen.)


Every female journalism and communications teacher I had in college felt like they had to prove themselves to EVERYONE! They were just as tough as a man and would dress like it to prove it. I realized that I am not that kind of person. I don't have to prove myself to anyone but me and to my Heavenly Father.
So I left the journalism program. I decided to become an English major and study creative writing. That lasted for half a semester. I got kicked out of the program because I wouldn't analyze poetry and I looked at Shakespeare plays as a theater person, not an English major snob. (It also didn't help that I did all of this in the class that was taught by the department head's wife!) 


So I moved on. Finally, I graduated with my degree in playwriting. I know, it's been oh so useful in my life...but it has helped in certain occasions. I wrote plays for my after school program kids. I wrote plays for other kids. I have been the editor for three books. And here's what all of this comes down to:


I love to write!


I do! I love it. I can express myself so much better in writing. All of the witty things in my brain can come out and they don't sound as crazy on paper as they would of I were to say them out loud. (Except for the jaw stabbing thing. I do admit that it's going a bit to far. Don't worry, after tomorrow I will no longer work with this person. Praise the baby Jesus for that one!)


I think this is why I enjoy blogging. Because there isn't a certain format I have to stick to. I don't have to follow the inverted pyramid or the MLM. I don't have to regurgitate a bunch of stuff that my professor's expected me to do. This is me. It may not always be pretty, and it definitely isn't proper, but it's who I am. It's how I feel and think about life. And even if no one were to read this (I am VERY grateful that you do!) I know that I am releasing my thoughts into the universe of the world wide web and allowing the juices to flow. I am being true to myself and not letting anyone tell me that having feelings and emoting makes me weak. Because it doesn't. I believe that what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger.  And gosh dang it, if the past few years haven't killed me, then a little jaw stabbing action won't either. Nor does it show that I am weak.


It merely shows that I am human. And in the end, isn't that what this life is about?