do it scared.
So there I was, 13 years old and in the 7th grade. I’d always been in the “A” class, always done well academically, and always received praise for my “brain”. But adolescence had hit hard and with it came an “I don’t really care" attitude and a slight rebellious streak. I was constantly getting in trouble for not doing my homework or being around boys or talking when I shouldn’t have been. My teacher, Mr B, who at the start of the year had told me that he believed I could be president one day, was slowly losing faith in me. In fact, one day he had gotten so frustrated with me that he told me that my life would be as meaningful as a pair of dirty socks. I didn’t really care, of course.
At that time, anyone who posed the question, “so what do you want to be when you grow up?” was met with a disinterested shrug or an insolent response: “A ballerina”. That is, until one day.
We were given the task of staging a debate and my role was to write the opening speech, which had to be about 5 minutes long. With no effort at all I wrote a long and detailed spiel about, if my memory serves me correctly, why competitive rugby at a junior school level was unhealthy. When the time came I stood up and read it in front of the class, straight off my notepad and probably without ever looking up. As I reached the concluding line of my presentation I raised my head and glanced at my teacher, expecting to be met with the disapproving look I had become so accustomed to. Much to my surprise, my eyes locked with the eyes of a man beaming with pride. “Undi,” (that isn’t a typo, that’s what he used to call me. I hated it) “you write so well!” And you know what? My little heart grabbed hold of those words and held onto them tightly. From that day onward I found so much joy in writing, be it essays or stories or poems or songs. So much so that I got home from school one day and confidently stated, “Mom, I’m going to be a writer!”
“That’s not a career my baby. You’ll change your mind as you get older”.
And I did. I decided to set free the words I had held so dearly. I decided to change my mind, and to want to be a lawyer and a doctor and sometimes even a rocket scientist (I know, right?!)
Fast forward 10 years and the journey to self-acceptance has been long and rocky. It’s taken me 10 years to admit to myself what I knew at 12 years old – that I want to be a writer, that I am a writer. And while I'm still a victim of fear's bullying; while I'm still fighting the chasing lies that have told me that this is not a real career or that I’ve wasted my intellect or that I’ll never “make it”; while I’m still questioning if I’m even good enough at this thing to make it my bread and butter; while the thought of anyone reading something that I’ve written still literally makes my stomach churn and my heart sink with dread. I’ve decided to run in the direction of my gut. I’ve decided to do it scared.
So here I am, a 22 year old woman chasing the dreams of a 12 year old girl, and inviting you to taste from my world. A world that is centred around people, around conversation and thought, around food and creation, around communion.
I am scared out of my mind, but I’m doing it.
x
Andi
"Communion” – the sharing and exchanging of intimate thoughts and feelings.
