I was swimming in an aquarium of words, words, words.
It was past midnight, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how to arrange them, how to write punchier copy for my article about Arthur Miller’s play, “All My Sons.” Never mind that I had an organic chemistry midterm the next day; that had never stopped me from making sure that the theater and arts articles I wrote for my college newspaper were perfect. I’d be damned if this one would be any different. I thrived on the bylines, the late nights, the pressure to hit the next deadline. Journalism, and writing, undeniably made me feel more alive than learning how to titrate amino acids.
That was ten years ago.
Sure, I had considered journalism as a career, alongside public health, education research, and international non-profit work. But life happens. You wrap up your creative aspirations in a package and ship it off to the Land of Later On. You have to do something practical, something less risky. You deny that you ever loved writing, because this love is so intertwined with a darker, failed relationship. So you stop writing and push it, and anything related to it, out of your mind.
It worked, for a while.
But in the months before I turned 30, the feeling that something was missing resurfaced. That’s when, late one December night, wrapped up in orange and blue New York Knicks blankets and sipping green tea, I discovered Pink Pangea’s travel writing retreat. On a whim, I packed my bags and headed to Costa Rica in January 2015.
The wonderful travel writers I met on Pink Pangea’s travel writing retreat
Like a veritable Rip Van Winkle, the retreat roused me from my ten-year slumber. The amazing women I met and the experiences I had made me recall the happy days I lived for back in college, scribbling notes on napkins about ideas for articles or turns of phrase in Kerckhoff Coffee House. On that last day in Costa Rica, I knew that I would rather try to write—and fail spectacularly—than not try at all.
On the last day of our Costa Rica travel writing retreat, right before our writing showcase.
The title of this first post is not an accident. It pays homage to the title of another blogger’s first post when she decided to start a travel blog after attending our travel writing retreat, a person who has inspired me to persevere even when we think we don’t have the time or energy to continue writing. It may have taken me a year, Miss Turner, but I’m going to start this blog and give it a solid go.
So here goes nothing. Vino, cibo, amore. Onwards!