OYM Day 100: Have We Met?
Hello, day 100. I wasn’t sure we’d have the pleasure of meeting.
Guys. I did it. So did you. You put up with me talking about a blog for over 3 months. That is no small feat. Congratulations.
I went from talking about writing to actually writing. And I started thinking about writing everyday…what I’d write about tomorrow, how I could talk about something without hurting too many feelings, and how to use quotation marks correctly (still screwing that up, unfortunately).
This blog forced me to talk about my writing with a whole slew of people, some in my immediate circle and some I haven’t spoken to in over 20 years. I heard from people I’ve never met before, people that disagreed with me, and even a person that wrote me off in a courtroom when I was just a child. It just blew me away. I have spent so much of my whirly mind energy wondering why I’ve felt so misunderstood my whole life and somehow, through this, I have finally felt seen. And I’m realizing a lot of it was my own fault. People didn’t understand me because they didn’t know me, but rather someone I thought was more interesting and disarming. But I’ve realized that I don’t care to be interesting to anyone but myself. It’s exhausting. And disarming? When did it become my job to make everyone feel comfortable? Fuck that shit right off.
This silly little blog helped me find my voice when my head was filled with too many that were not my own. Or maybe they were my own, but they aren’t welcome here anymore.
I feel powerful. Like a force. Like screaming at the top of my lungs and stopping an army with just the look in my eye. This has been a revolution for me and the timing was so perfect it makes me think something or someone was just waiting…just waiting for me to get here so they could see me sitting here at my kitchen counter trying not to cry with this big dumb smile on my face. Because I’m so proud of myself. Not just for writing for 100 days, but for recommitting myself to a passion that has lived in my heart since my feet couldn’t reach the floor of our conversion van.
I was raised up believing there was something special in me. Maybe you felt it in you, too. What do we think we’re doing, pretending? What are we waiting for? Open your mouth.
I know we’ve met 100 or so times, but I’d like to reintroduce myself.
My name is Cassie and I’m a writer. A real writer. You’ll just have to trust me.
Or, if you’re not the trusting type, you can just follow my new, expanded series, here:
One time, I went to a commune in the middle of the jungle, and I slept in a temple full of crystals, iguanas, and…
I wrote a condensed story about my time at a commune in the jungle, here on Medium, and it received the most attention of any of my OYM&TM posts. You guys are into some weird shit. If you’d like to read even more weird shit, then you’ll love a much deeper look into what I experienced and learned during my time there. Go follow! Subscribe! And share! Please?
Also — OYM&TM is not dead! I will still be posting, but on a weekly basis as opposed to daily. So, stick with me!
All of your support has and will continue to mean so much.
Thank you for seeing me.