I've never been the kind of girl that was coordinated, popular or sought after by legions of adoring guys.
When I was younger I ungracefully bowed out of gymnastics, ballet, and even tennis (which I'm surprisingly good at now). Most of the time I was throwing up.
As I grew older and became much better at dodging basketballs being thrown at my head during recess, there was one thing that helped me get through the awkwardness that was (and still is) my life.
I jotted down the feelings and thoughts I'd never say into numbers of journals. I wrote poetry and ultimately took creative writing classes. I presented my work in these classes and drew tears from the audiences.
But I've never pursed it further. I'm 29 now and as people around me start families, I look at myself and believe I haven't given it everything. I've tried halfheartedly to write here and there but ultimately the dream gets thrown to the side.
I don't want that. I owe more to that shy, timid girl who stayed after school to write more on her essays for extra credit. She didn't rock those sassy coke bottle glasses for nothing.
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