So It's Time.

School is out next week, which means it's time for me to find something new to procrastinate over and avoid. It may as well be writing. Over the last several months, I've had a voice in my mind saying "it's time", in an impatient tone and I'm hoping that this combined with all of the notions renting space in my head, will motivate me to put fingers to keys.

The purpose of this blog is multifaceted. First, I have this crazy idea that I might be able to make a living as a writer. For more than a few years, I've received compliments and encouragement from those close to me who have read my thoughts commited to "ink", and told me they were good. While I have always been skeptical of their comments, given that many of the people I know and love are also very kind and encouraging, I figure that if my writing was awful, someone would have had the courtesy to tell me by now. The second aspect of this blog's purpose is to develop the habit of writing. I've noticed that while I can't escape my thinking, I can generally avoid writing. Except, this particular habit prevents number one from ever becoming a reality, hence, I'd like to employ peer pressure to form a habit. It worked for smoking, so I know the idea has merit. The third aspect, and the scary part for me is that my writing is a reflection of myself. I would describe myself as an essayist, as I have thus far only been capable of capturing myself and my own life in the right words. Therefore, these are my thoughts- very carefully arranged, mind you- and subsequently, sharing them- the ideas that generally live on the inside arranged with a sense of purpose- is scary. A natural question follows- scared of what? Judgement. I've recently worked out for myself that the only reason I worry over judgement is because I myself am judgemental. I know my thoughts and predispositions, stereotypes and opinions. I know what I think about other people, and I'm a little worried about what they might think about me, should I go through the effort of writing it all down. Combined with the fear of not being good enough- of having something that is the best example I can manage, disregarded- has proven to be enough to immobilize. It would again prove counterproductive that my preferred method of creative expression also work out as a phobia.

It follows that the same impatient voice that has been urging me along, is also louder than the doubts that linger over ability. So it's time.

The final purpose of this blog is to assemble a set of experiences I've had recently into a collection of essays. To sell, mind you, so I can have a nice house with a water view and host parties to which you'll all be invited. This being said, as you read, please tell me what you think. Tell me what you liked and disliked. Please be specific, even if you think it'll hurt my feelings. If you think something I say needs elaboration, point it out. Aside from critics, I need you to read- and as readers, think about what I have to say and share your perspective. This story runs along some sensitive lines, and I'd like to know what you think about them. I've decided to call this re-telling Broken English, for reasons that will hopefully be obvious in due time.

In summary, Broken English starts with my decision to quit my corporate job. This is something people don't generally do and get away with, at least not people like me- an idea which will be elaborated upon. But yesterday was 120 days, and I appear to have pulled it off. It wasn't without some tradeoffs, which is of course, where my story lies. I did find a new job, but in an environment that required me to come to terms with racism- my own, to be exact- and those racist opinions held by others, too. It also required me to shed my love of english, my obsession with using the right words at all times so as to convey the most perfect meaning possible, almost immediately. With my words went my sense of humor, which is also my method of rapport building and coping with ambiguity. Again, this is where my story lies. But between the two jobs I've held in the last 121 days and the term of school I've just completed, I've found a tremendous sense of understanding and value. This is combined with the desire to be part of the solution for the problems that lie before us as a culture, society, and our eventual blurb in history. My goal for our era is that at least it can be said that we tried.

This is the same for myself, perspective and voice- at least it can be said that I tried.

Stay tuned...