After Publishing My First Book

In 2022, I self-published a small collection of essays.

Salad Days.

In my late twenties, I wanted so badly to write. I had this vague, persistent longing to become someone who wrote for a living.

Then, around the age of thirty, I published Salad Days, and strangely enough, my hunger to become “a writer” eased.

Maybe it was the relief of having finally done something I had long wanted to do. But that’s not quite it. If anything, it feels more like finally hearing from an ex you once wanted so badly that you nearly lost your dignity trying to win him back, only to find that by the time he reaches out, your heart has already gone quiet. You smile, wish him well, and realize you’re fine. It feels less like triumph and more like the subdued, grown-up kind of peace.

When my book was out, I saved the words people sent me—the congratulations, the love, the generous thoughts they shared about my small pieces of writing. A friend who had published a book before me once said that you can hardly expect people around you to offer thoughtful feedback on your book, and that if they read it at all, that alone is something to be grateful for.

So these words and hearts feel all the more precious to me.

I’m recording them here so I can return to them again and again—and for the writing heart in me, in case it ever begins to flutter back to life.

Below are some thoughts I found while searching,

sentiments recorded by complete strangers..🙏🏻