This post is written by E&I, INC. GUEST AUTHOR: Maya Albert
I want to write, and I have no idea what I want to say, whom, or how I want to say it. These are all simultaneous truths. So this is me trying something. Having felt this internal desire to write finds me in an all too familiar place once again, fruitlessly staring at a blank page. See, the thing is, I am a logophile. I love words. I love the power and beauty words bestow on people. Possessing this immense affinity for words makes writing something, anything, an arduous endeavor.
So why am I doing this?
Several conversations over the last six months have led me to this moment where I have penned a whopping SEVERAL PARAGRAPHS to paper. One of my biggest advocates in this writing endeavor has always been my friend, Jared. Jared is a self-proclaimed “dabbler” of sorts, and, as such, he encourages others to do the same. He is also a firm believer in a self-fulfilling prophecy. It may be an oversimplified philosophy, but I agree with him entirely. There is likely little harm in doing most things you desire.
So why the hell should I not give this a try? That was months ago, pushed out of necessity to the back of my mind as I focus on the busy, mundane of daily life. But enter fate and Olivia, my seven-year-old daughter, who thrust me forward into my dormant dream without realizing it. It is incredible to see yourself and your life paralleled, reflected, and contradicted in your children. Olivia is the antithesis of every part of me. Even at seven years old, I can discern the woman that she will be. She is all the things I am not, but longingly wishes I was. Olivia adamantly refuses to waste any of her time on anything or anyone that disinterests her. Like her mother, many of Olivia’s tendencies present some challenges.
As a woman who has wasted countless hours of her time on unimportant matters, I possess a strong penchant for Olivia’s utter refusal to give any part of herself if she doesn’t find value in doing so. All of her energy is conserved for channeling her attention into attaining the things and experiences Olivia does want. I have watched this little girl accomplish seemingly impossible things armed with nothing other than desire and drive. Olivia’s most recent passion has been her vlog. She will ask to borrow my phone, and later I find videos that start, “Hi, friends! Welcome back! Today we are going to talk about…”. I am her audience as this “vlog” lives solely on my phone.
Her topics are vast and random; she explains the various hearing aid parts and quickly changes to why being the youngest sibling is the worst thing ever. Of course, a few days later, her topic is about why being the youngest sibling is the best. Other days she may chat about her stuffies, only to channel Socrates and Aristotle; this is my miniature role model: my pint-size philosopher. Last week, we were in the car driving home from dinner. I could hear Olivia begin with her standard intro and then begin, “Today, we are going to talk about not giving up.” I
turned down the radio and tuned into my sneak peek of the recording. Olivia continued, “Sometimes, things are hard. I’m learning to sew, and I’m not too fond of buttons. They make me not want to sew at all, but then I tell myself, “You have to try. It doesn’t have to be perfect”. I do other hard stuff too, not just sewing. Sometimes people might not want to do anything because everything seems hard, but you have to do something, or nothing happens”.
Olivia’s words were profound, and again I found myself learning from her. I have to try to do something, or nothing will happen.
So here I am doing something that I have wanted to do for a long time. It feels awkward and foreign to me, but I want to soak this part of it up. Maybe writing will end up being something like a blog that I’ve dreamed of creating. Maybe others will enjoy what I would hope is the progression from someone clumsily telling their mundane stories to a writer who navigates their words with familiarity and poise. Or maybe it won’t be a blog, but instead, a diary of sorts to leave to my kids so they can better understand who I was during their childhood and maybe, in turn, ease the burden of that inevitable time when they realize they’re mom was never a superhero. She was never able to ward off monsters or have secret conversations with their stuffies. She didn’t know the answers; she just tried and prayed to make the decisions that would cause them as little necessity for undoing in the future.
Or maybe my kids will never see this, and perhaps this will be just for me to read. Possibly one day, down the road, I’ll wonder how my life has brought me to a particular moment, and I can return to this, and my words will serve as a guide.
Maybe this will exist solely as proof that I continued to let nothing happen because I tried something.
Writer & Creator