Why I Write

I’ve always told stories.

When I was in grade school my teachers would tell my parents that I would be an author. It was code for Kaleigh tells tall tales. I crossed out what I needed to so I could fit in with the other kids. I told stories, because even as a child, the truth never felt good enough.

And now that I am 23, I am still curious about how to fit in.

I’m still trying to figure out what the rest of my life looks like, and it feels ordinary, but I still want to make something beautiful out of it.

I question all the mantras I write down.

I both glamorize and compare everything, and thinking about how I feel brings new feelings each day. I’m consulting ways to be confident and criticizing whether I deserve that confidence.

I write about so many things I don’t know.

I still don’t know if anything that I share is worth reading. I scrutinize each statement I share with uncertainty.

The bulk of our life stories are written day-to-day, but my uncertainty probes and makes me believe that my ordinary life may be too ordinary. I want to be confident, but whimsical at the same time. I want to transform into the woman who composes my personal essays.

I want to look back on my life one day, complicated anecdotes and all, and feel content. 

Honestly, I appreciate my writing. Much of my appreciation comes from continuing to write even when the stories I share seem a little cringe or forgettable.

My story is worth sharing, even if I’m the only one approving. Even if no one compliments me for it. My accomplishments are still my accomplishments.

My writing comes fluently.

It helps me calm down when life feels like too much. It helps me give myself praise instead of searching for it from someone else.

Writing helps me romanticize the minor details that still feel big to me.

Writing lets me have conversations with questions that aren’t ready to be answered. I don’t know if I am pretty. But, I guess everyone feels this question out. This perception sometimes makes me feel a little more human, especially when I write it down.

I’m not oversharing by talking about myself. I am steadily growing. Continually learning and writing is my way of blooming. I am always learning, even when everything feels all amiss. Sometimes the hardest lessons are the most life-changing. So this is how this chapter ends.

Not every story wins a Newbery Medal. I am still trying to figure out who I am, and while writing doesn’t always give me answers, it does keep the conversation going. The pen is always moving.