I Have To Keep Writing — There Is No Other Option

I can’t ignore my purpose any longer.

Photo by sarah b on Unsplash

When my cousin — Daun — turned thirty, they told me, “Thirty is the new twenty-one.”

I laughed because I thought they were making a joke (and I’m only twenty-five, so what do I know), but they were very much not joking.

Then I had to wonder, “Why am I laughing? I don’t even find this particularly funny. Why is it laughable that any age could be a cool new chapter in someone’s life?”

We discussed this for the next twenty minutes or so as I voiced my thoughts aloud, and Daun began to explain their goals for this new era.

They told me that, while they had to work their construction job to make ends meet, they knew they had to focus on their art.

I, of course, agreed with them because what are we doing if we’re not making art?

But the longer we spoke, the more I felt myself needing the conversation.

I’d spent several months before that phone call haunted by something a different family member said to me after I told her I was kind of enjoying my non-writing job.

She said, “I know you’ve always wanted to write, but maybe this is what you were meant for!”