I have always been observant, curious, and committed to storytelling. There’s just one aspect of writing I’ve consistently struggled with…finishing a piece of writing. Getting the words, ideas, and jokes out of my head, onto a page, and edited for clarity

When my friends started to turn 30 a few years before me, I questioned their existential dread. At 28, 30 did not sound old. My memories flashed across my subconscious, showing me memes I had seen about successful people getting their start later in life. Not everyone is a child prodigy. Most people work for a long time before seeing the fruits of their labor. I had plenty of time to reach for my goals.

Then I turned 30. The sense of failure was just like summer humidity in Chicago. I walked out of my 20s into a solid wall of discomfort, sweat, and (emotional) chaffing. My work wasn’t just unpublished; it was unpolished. I had allowed my fear of producing imperfect work to prevent me from producing any work at all.

So I will write, edit, and post. I will push myself to try styles I am not comfortable with. I will create a collection of work I can be proud of. I will learn to feel like a writer because, after all, the only qualifying factor for being a writer is writing.