If you walked into my bedroom, you might think I’m a really vain and arrogant person. I hope that you wouldn’t, but there’s a chance. I have saved a copy of The Michigan Daily for each one that I worked on, and hung them up around the room. It’s reminiscent of a mother who hangs up her young kid’s drawings (hopefully they look better than the terrible children family portraits with every member of the family drawn with orange crayon, though) on the family refrigerator.
Ever since we read Orwell’s “Why I Write,” I keep coming back to his four main points about he writes (duh) when I’m looking at these hung up Daily issues. Is there a political purpose in these pompous posters of self-accomplishment? Not really. An aesthetic enthusiasm? If they’re done well, I guess. Sheer egoism? Absolutely. But that’s the point.
When I turn on the TV, it’s mostly reserved for people who have such tremendous achievements. Oh, the Golden Globes are on? Here’s some of the world’s most beautiful people lauding other beautiful people for making beautiful art. Oh, the NFL playoffs are on? Here’s a bunch of Goliaths who are pushing the human physique to unimaginable points.
Am I skilled in any way that is even close to comparable with these people? Absolutely not (unless we’re counting “Who can watch the most episodes of The Office today,” in which case I’m at least competitive). But I am really proud of my writing. Orwell said it was because of sheer egoism, and he’s so right. Writing for me has become my way, no matter how relatively insignificant, of showing that there is something that I can do well. And if hanging up the symbols of that makes me a vain person, then I’m damn proud of it.