The value of the written word
Growing up, I dreamt about where my love for writing could lead. I imagined exposing the truth as an investigative reporter or writing bestselling novels.
On the other hand, my performance and interest in science classes sparked another passion. So I tried to study both, hoping that I’d end up doing something I truly love — but knowing deep down which was the practical choice.
Somehow along the way, I lost sight of my goals— as I tried to balance two majors, I struggled to envision a future where both of these degrees meshed and gave me an advantage in a single career. This indecision and inaction had me floating aimlessly, moving toward a career somewhere in the middle of both, that I’d immediately realize would never fulfill me.
I’ve found that most people just want a decent career, one where they can reasonably enjoy the work, move up the ladder, and pay the bills. But my deep-rooted need to be exceptional and impact the world in a positive, long-lasting way made me second guess everything I was doing.
I have always desperately clung to any sense of importance or humanitarian value in my job. Disparaging comments about my career cut deep. This job wasn’t impressive, and the public opinion of its usefulness or impact was questionable. If I were to continue in this career path, would my work matter?
All this aside from the existential questions about my purpose in life racing through my head: did I even enjoy it? Was this my dream, or was I compromising with something “easier”, more comfortable, than fighting my way into a coveted position in a dying industry that provided little security and measly financial prospects?
If I had real passion and were confident enough, wouldn’t I have given a writing career more effort? If I were practical and smart enough, wouldn’t I have continued with science?
Stuck waffling between two sectors, I ended up in a field in which I am not content. I all but gave up on my writing dream. I let myself fall into a safety net of corporate mediocrity.
Shortly before graduating college, I voiced my regrets and worries to my mother, who had originally wanted me to pursue a career in STEM. I told her I was contemplating taking some post-baccalaureate classes and potentially looking into chemistry-related programs in order to shift paths.
She was surprised to hear this, given my affinity and passion for writing and my choice to focus on my communications degree. “What made you start thinking about that?” she asked me.
I explained my fear of falling short in society’s eyes. Would my career be impressive enough? Would people think I was doing something important? Would I seem smart? Most importantly, was I benefiting anyone?
Outside of a 9–5 job, I always knew I wanted to write. I reiterated that dream to my mom but asked, “how does that help people, or better the world?”
“Literature helps so many people,” she told me, so sincerely.
It was probably the most validating thing I’d heard in that regard. There tends to be an implicit dismissal of “soft skills” and careers in humanities, especially in today’s culture of over-commercialization and immediate gratification. People don’t stop to smell the roses, so to speak, unless those roses are selling something. I genuinely needed someone else to see the value in what I valued so deeply.
One big upside to writing: it fulfills me. When I’m not writing, I feel stuck, stagnant. I find myself yearning to share — I end up drunk rambling to friends, acquaintances, strangers.
The joy and peace I find in writing should have been enough for me to continue to pursue it, but I felt I had to rationalize its objective benefit to society, to humankind.
In a practical, straightforward sense, writing in general can be informative or educational, helping people learn skills, become more aware of the world around them, or expand their thinking. In the realm of investigative journalism, it can even help bring justice and protect people.
I’ve always known that reporting the news is important, but increasingly negative opinions of the news media and the oversaturation of social media “news” channels triggered doubt in my mind.
The overall spirit and mission of journalism is to share the truth with the larger public — and it’s been shown to have immense social impact throughout history. News can shape public opinion, spark social justice campaigns, and expose important truths.
As an obvious example, within the last few years the media exposed pernicious sexual predators including Harvey Weinstein and Bill Cosby. Not only did journalists uncover these crimes and helped spark investigations and consequences, but they also provided a voice to victims who otherwise would not have been heard.
Another measurable impact is on democracy: there is a direct correlation between local political coverage and voter turnout.
But there’s also the impact on one’s soul. Literature can be an escape. Studies show fiction can even improve mental health.
It can make someone feel less alone. It often brings people together, stitching a community of people passionate about the same work of art. Researchers at The New School have even found that reading literature can improve one’s empathy.
Sure, it may not be as tangible of an impact as performing a life-saving surgery or developing a medicine, but I guarantee the people who have been touched by a piece of literature feel forever changed. How often do artists of all sorts — writers, musicians, directors — hear from a fan “you/your work saved my life”?
Creating any kind of art is a blessing to the world and the creators should be proud of the profound imprint their creations have on people, no matter how few.
Words truly matter. Their cardinal uses, in my opinion, are that they can heal immense pain and foster community.
