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| Source: Tardisio |
For months, I’ve been debating about what the subject of my first post ought to be. I’ve been reading and rereading everything that I’ve written, I’ve deleted and scrapped opening and transitioning sentences, and put more work into crafting a blog post than I almost ever felt I had to do in my 6 years as an English Major. It took me until quite recently to really put my finger on the source of all this anguish – all of this self-imposed discomfort:
I wanted people to like me.
That is the simple truth of the matter, one that I am only
too willing to share. I wanted people to
like me, which is a feeling I have not had in years. Not since my time at Franklin Academy High
School, in fact. A time where I was the
quiet, bookish kid in the back of the class, lashing out at teachers and
walking the length of my town and the ones next to it just to get away – a time
where I would have done anything to find someone to identify with.
Which, when all was said and done, I did.
That’s not really the point, however. The point is that I sat here, staring at the
cold blue light of my monitor for weeks on end, reading the paragraphs above
over and over again, trying to impress a bunch of faceless strangers who know
less about me than most people who actually know my name. That is, until I finally realized why:
Because people matter.
