“To stoke that particular flame within the very soul requires just a spark of passion.”
Long ago, I legitimately had a passion for one particular thing on my mind: writing.
When it came time to lock in an intended major at my university, I chose journalism as my first choice.
A lot of people scoffed and mocked me for my choice in major back when I started college. People questioned my decision. Rightfully so, journalism wasn’t a sexy major choice. By all means, the field paid poorly and a lot of people as a whole did not respect journalists and their profession.
Regardless of what others said, I stuck to my guns. I set my major as journalism and stayed with it from start to finish in college. By all means, I was a journalism nut in all kinds of ways.
I ate, slept and breathed in the essence of journalism. I was obsessed over things like Associated Press (AP) writing style, how words looked on a newspaper page and other random things like how to write decent headlines.
I learned how to do things like how to edit other people’s writing like a madman, I became obsessed with “space” between paragraphs and other random things one could find in print.
Go down the list, and I dabbled in a bit of everything when it came to what you could learn in a college newspaper. I even was a news editor during the summer at one point.
However, even after all of that, I found myself painfully ill-prepared for the post-graduation stuff. No matter how much genuine passion I had for the journalism field, it was not like the field had the same kind of love and respect for me as a potential candidate.
I wasn’t trying to report big news or anything like that. I just wanted a start. I wanted a beginning. At the very least, I knew I had a lot to do before I could transition into a proper journalism job after college.
It was never about the money. No one goes into journalism thinking about their bank accounts. They do it for the sake of the craft. I was willing to move to some random place I had never been to before, even if I ended up working at some dinky paper.
Not for the byline. Not for getting my name out there in the journalism world.
I wanted the experience. I wanted to get my feet wet. I was completely willing to start at the bottom and grind my way toward something respectable on the metaphorical ladder. It was the only thing I wanted for myself. It was the only desire I had to keep me motivated for something “professional” that I could be proud of as an individual.
Had things played out the way I wanted them to, I would have been a full-fledged journalist by now. I would be living in some big city or something.
Alas, the bad stuff happened instead. It happened in droves.
I dealt with long-term unemployment. It was humiliating and crippling. I thought I was such a loser in so many ways.
Life had knocked me down, and it felt like it kept me suppressed for far too long before I could find some sort of strength to wiggle my way out of my own personal problems and insecurities.
Or perhaps it was a manifestation of other negative emotions…
I don’t quite know for sure.
Depression is a soul-draining feeling.
In more ways than one.
Don’t get me wrong. I was a mess prior to graduating college, but I did have a lot of passion for the journalism field.
It was just that health, both physical and mental (and perhaps some other stuff in between), caught up to me.
You get anchored in place by baggage that you don’t take away, and I had more than enough baggage to last me a lifetime.
I am not proud to say that I should have been more proactive with dealing with my issues. I did not really go to the right people, I did not speak with the proper people on the matter and everything just spiraled out of control.
No. Scratch that. Scratch that thing about having
Having control would imply I had a firm grip on the steering wheel, while driving down that path toward “greatness” that I wanted to reach so badly.
No. No. No!
If anything, I somehow stumbled my way through college, and the fact that I am still somewhat OK today is a miracle in itself.
Sigh, you learn a lot about yourself when you are forced to rethink where to start anew.
I certainly have passions that keep me going.
The thought of owning my own restaurant one day.
And a whole lot more.
But in all honesty, I want to make writing a passion to throw back onto that list…
I have always had an interest in writing. Writing used to be my very best subject in school.
I had a real knack for writing, at least when it came to proper grammar and English syntax. It was my “edge” as a student, but I was not that well-rounded in other subjects to make me more of a catch for other fields.
I wasn’t that athletic.
I wasn’t that good at science.
I was not that adept at history.
Writing was what I had to my name.
And now, the more I attempt to comprehend where I stand with it at this very phase in my life, I want to bring it back into the picture.
I am not the same writer I was five years ago. Along the way, I lost some aspects within my writing, but I hope to replace what was lost with other techniques and styles.
I am not going to claim or boast that I am some diamond in the rough, that I am going to pen together a literary masterpiece anytime soon and that I should have people begging for me to write them stuff…
If anything, I like to think that I have a lot to learn. I have been humbled over the years by my circumstances, but I don’t want any further dread to delay my progress as both a writer and person any longer.
I want to rekindle the passion I once had for writing. I recall a pleasant time where I would just sit around as a kid, writing short stories for the mere sake of personal enjoyment and not caring if anyone would ever lay their eyes on it.
Those were simpler, happier times. There were zero worries about making money. There was just an urge to write and piece together what I had floating around in my mind, even if all of the components didn’t quite come together just yet.
That didn’t matter. It was the process that was riveting. The end result did not matter to me.
I realize now that I let my emotions and problems douse the inner fire I once had toward writing. To rekindle it again means I just have to find what ignites that passion in the first place.
“Complete the process.” – Nhan Fiction