I’m not great at what I do. And this is great.
Some people are lucky enough to know what the want to be in life from the moment they learn how to talk. Some people choose their major under pressure when it’s time to fill out a college admissions form. Some people, even after choosing their major, give up on their chosen path once or twice before finally deciding what career to follow. I’m not saying I’ve done this — but I’m not denying it either.
What I know for sure is that among all these people who have a hard time choosing a major, there’s a great portion of us who kind of know what we want but are too scared to go for it. And then we end up lost.
I was in my senior year in high school when I started writing my first big story. It was about a New York girl named Claire, and that’s all I remember of it. That’s how poorly thought out it was. But I remember I shared it on an online forum, and, to my surprise, people loved it. They started following Claire’s story and asked for more when it took me too long to update it.
I’m positive that was the most readers I’ve ever had to this day.
I can still remember the feeling of knowing what I had written had touched someone. That was a turning point in my life. From that moment on, I knew my dream was to move people with my stories, with what I wrote.
But being a writer is hardly an option in Brazil.
It took me a few years and two attempts at college — journalism, and architecture — before finally having the courage to pursue writing professionally. About four years after writing Claire’s story, I started studying what I wanted, creative writing.
I had to move to the United States to follow my dream, and I spent almost four years of my life there. I had doubts, certainties, and even more doubts. Then, I saw all my plans for the future shatter right in front of me when I had to come back to Brazil because of my visa.
And with those plans, I felt my resolve to be a writer crumble to pieces as well.
I returned to Brazil with a degree that couldn’t be validated here, with no experience in the Brazilian job market, and no strong connections in the publishing industry. For a long time, I felt like those four years in the US had been erased from my life.
Being a writer is hardly an option in Brazil, and I was back at square one.
Finding a way into the job market without any experience in the city seemed like an impossible challenge, and with no possibilities of applying to internships, I decided to go back to school and earn a new degree.
From the ashes, I rose with a new plan: I’ll study something else, get a diploma, go into grad school for publishing, and then I’d find my way into the industry.
But life happened along the way.
Over three years ago, I was hired as a marketing intern at a school. Two months later, I was hired as their marketing assistant. I’ve been working with marketing ever since. Somehow, at some point in these past three years, I lost my direction and forgot about my truest dream — to be a writer.
Last October, I decided to quit. After months of therapy, I found the strength again to leave what had been keeping me from being a writer. From then on, I’d only take a few freelance marketing gigs while writing — just for the money.
Last week, I was in a crisis. I hadn’t written a single word in months, and I was drowning in frustration. I had circled back to the same place I was before quitting; marketing had once again taken up my entire life.
Fighting my way out of a downward spiral, I asked a friend “what is something I’m good at?”. At this point, it felt like I was doing a horrible job as a marketing professional. Her answer was short and simple: “writing.”
Her answer got me thinking of how little — not say none — writing I had done recently. Her answer made me realize I have been running away from writing ever since 2009 when a story I’d written first touched people. Her answer triggered me to understand that I’m not great at what I do simply because I insist on doing the wrong thing.
Like an athlete recovering from some time away, getting back to writing feels rusty. Sometimes the words have to fight their way out of me, and they’re chaotic. But I’m letting them free as they come.
My writing has moved people before. I trust my words. I know I can do this well. And perhaps, this is the great reason I’m so scared of it. When we value something, we are terrified of losing it — that’s why sometimes we rather not have it in the first place. That’s what I was doing to my writing. I was keeping it guarded.
But words weren’t meant to stay safe.
Slowly, I am coming back to what I’m great at. One word at a time, I feel my muscles coming back to life. I just need to keep going. I just need to remind myself that this, writing, is what I meant to do, and if I insist on doing the wrong thing, I’ll just find myself more and more frustrated.
Realizing I’m not great at what I’m doing right now might have just been the best thing to happen to me.
