can i call myself a creative (yet)?

how many words do you have to write to consider yourself a writer?

how many pieces do you have to create to consider yourself an artist?

while i’m not someone who often struggles with imposter syndrome, i know that for many different and complicated reasons (hello, childhood trauma), i find it quite hard to instinctively think of myself as a creative and even harder to state myself as such out loud. hopefully that demonstrates a healthy level of humility and vulnerability about my own skills; however, i suspect more of it than i would like reflects an internal struggle with legitimacy. a struggle to determine when i will feel worthy of an artist’s title. when i will feel like i’m actively pursuing creativity in earnest, and, despite me…very actively pursuing creativity in earnest as we speak.

i’m writing a damn manuscript.

for the first time in my life, my love of writing, course of study, and primary “professional” focus are all aligned, and it is at this very same time, i feel the most disingenuous about calling myself a writer. nearly 20 years of explaining that my english degree was a pursuit of passion, an opportunity to fully immerse myself and study exactly what i wanted – which it was, and that the degree could be leveraged for all sorts of roles – which it has been, and only now do i feel like a fraud calling myself a writer when everything’s finally aligned. maybe i’m worried that everyone will see a straight line in my experience where i see a circle. or maybe i’m waiting for a moment that will make this experience feel real with a capital R for me.

finishing my manuscript?

holding a physical copy of my book in my hands?

someone i don’t know gushing about or absolutely hating a character i’ve written?

i won’t know unless i keep trying. keep writing. it’s another fun and frustrating piece of my process.

just like my journey to bravery, i recognize there’s how i’m feeling and what i’m doing – my ego and my effort. the moment for effort is now. i can sort out my ego at a different time. i can write now and figure out whether i’m “a writer” later. i can be the person i’m still figuring out how to be.

it’s possible that the writer i am is someone who can’t not write, and i don’t need to worry about the writer i’m supposed to be.