I’ve been writing online since May 24, 2002. Fifteen years, you guys.
I tried to think of what else I’ve been doing that long, and the only other thing I could think of was keeping a journal. More writing. Realistically, I suppose there are other things. Walking, talking, chewing solid food. But not many.
When I started, I was a month into grad school, a year into my first full-time job, three years into a relationship that would define my 20s, and 24 years into life in general. I started a blog to jot thoughts on my lunch break.
Three years ago, I wrote:
I would write if nobody ever read it – I would write if I were trapped on a desert island, if I were going down with the ship – but it never fails to pleasantly startle me when someone says they’ve read what I’ve written. What started as a little free account has probably been what gave me the courage to become an actual writer. That realization never fails to pleasantly startle me too. I make my living by writing things. And what I’m writing aren’t Excel spreadsheets and data analysis algorithms and PowerPoint presentations and email pitches. As has been the case. I’m writing articles and essays, opinion pieces and research reports. Things I find fascinating and fun and important and interesting.It’s a little miracle that I get to live this life every day, and I think that miracle was born right here.
How on earth did I ever get so lucky?
It wasn’t just luck. It was a lot of work. A lot of late nights and early mornings, airports and spreadsheets, research and revisions, networking and schmoozing. It still is a lot of work. But it is also luck. I’m so glad that I have this life that I never stop being afraid it will disappear. I am so fortunate.
Please listen to the people who tell you that you have something worth offering. Please never stop doing the things you love doing.
And please accept my gratitude for reading my words. You make my life possible.