My First Substack Post

That's it; that's the title, because that's literally what the post it about.

Today I sit in front of my laptop to write my first Substack post, and although I should feel inspired and motivated–which, to some degree, I do–I am overwhelmed.

Not because I don’t understand technology. I’ll have you know that my birth year, 1997, just made the gen-z cutoff, and I’d rate my online proficiency-level a mid seven. Perhaps if that number were higher, I’d code my own website and newsletter instead of joining Substack. Although if I were to go the personal blog route, designing the website myself would hinder the business that I’d otherwise give to those who code for a living. Economic codependency fuels capitalism, after all, and this is also the reason I refuse to learn how to do my nails. I’d no longer be supporting the ladies who jubilantly welcome me whenever I enter their salon, as they did a few hours ago, providing me with a sparkly-pink gel manicure that’ll carry me through the month.

How did I shift the conversation from Substack to my new nails? Possibly because I’m watching them glide across my keyboard as I type this. You might interpret my digression as a useless tangent. I would, too, if this were an academic paper, or an essay I intended to publish on Medium or an online journal. However, that’s why I’m including the aforementioned sidetrack. I’m going to approach my Substack newsletter differently and that’s what overwhelms me.

You’d think that the freedom to write whatever I please would excite me. It does, but the lack of boundaries epitomizes unchartered territory. See, I configured a nifty formula for my Medium articles. I’d open the article with a personal anecdote, segue into what I learned from the anecdote, which would conclude with my thesis and advice that readers could implement into their own lives. Occasionally I’d write a creative nonfiction piece–which I’d still wrap up with some a relatable theme–but mainly, I felt like all of my writing needed to convey a motivational lesson. These articles followed the “Medium growth blueprint,” but didn’t fulfill me. 

So, as I embark on this Substack endeavor, I’m going to adopt the “stream of consciousness” style that I enjoy most. This requires me to release the restrictions and limitations I’ve previously placed on my work. In order for me to return to these roots, I must ask myself: why do I write?

Because I’m good at it.

Okay, that’s not the only reason I write. But since I’ve committed to unadulteratedly documenting my thoughts, I feel obligated to share the one that emerged first.

I’m a talented writer. This propels me to continue. Few feelings compare to that of completing a story I toiled over for days, reveling in my work’s verisimilitude and succinct ending. You might not be a writer, but the feeling applies to any skill–a baker biting into their chocolate mousse cake, relishing in their homemade recipe’s succulence and balanced sweetness.

Recognizing my writing talent isn’t the flex you might assume it to be, because that recognition is what generates (self-induced) pressure. Think about the inverse: how do you feel when you participate in an activity you’ve either never tried before or harbor zero skill? For one, you wouldn’t care to share the final product with the world–I’m a mediocre singer and painter, hence why I wouldn’t post either on social media–but two, you wouldn’t stress if the final product wasn’t optimal, because you didn’t expect it to be.

Nonetheless, the second answer to my question is that I write because I love it. If the baker didn’t hated the act of baking, their recipe’s fruition wouldn’t taste as sweet–no pun intended. Typically you have to enjoy practicing said thing to become skilled at said thing. Writing consists of two components: the prose and the concept. If you write eloquently but lack original ideas, your writing won’t succeed; if you hypothesize fresh ideas but poorly articulate them, you won’t attract many readers, either. I seldom struggle with prose–I could transform a car manual into a poetry.

Conceptually, though… I usually have something to say. Theorizing an essay or story topic isn’t my weakness. The conflict arises when I contemplate whether the story is something I want to write, vs. whether it’s something that others will genuinely want to read. When I’m unsure about the latter, I become unsure about myself, wondering if I’m actually writing content that matters.

“Mattering,” though, is subjective. The third reason I write–and share–is to entertain. Not all movies or TV shows contain a profound message that’s intended to alter the audience’s worldview. Sometimes a belly laugh is all we need to ease a long day. Although many of my future posts probably will dissect some cultural phenomenon, I’m not going to constrain myself to intellectual realms. Stay tuned for stories about bad Hinge dates because I’ve got an arsenal I can pull from. 

Even though I’m not following my Medium blueprint, I still want to end my first Substack post with a moral. So, whatever your passion is, remind yourself what aspects of it drive you. Don’t be afraid to redefine those aspects and re-evaluate the methods through which you execute. This Substack post epitomizes my entrance in the new terrain. I’m going to tread slowly; I’ll learn more about the land–and myself–with each footstep, imprinting along my own, unique path. As I journey deeper, I’ll settle in, unpack my belongings, and maybe turn this space into a home.