When I was in college, I remember asking one of my advanced literature professors something that stuck with me ever since. I said, “Professor, if we’re hired for our ability to write, for our art, then what’s really the purpose of our talent?” He looked straight at me and answered in a way I’ve never forgotten: “We write, mainly, for ourselves. It might bring money or satisfaction sometimes, but authenticity always comes first. Always.” I don’t remember a lot from those years, but that moment is burned into me.
Being on HIVE feels like stepping into a digital jungle. Talent is everywhere, just one click away. I’ll never get tired of saying it, this platform is full of people who are genuinely brilliant at what they do. And that creates its own kind of pressure. As writers, we all deal with that, myself included. But there’s also this other layer that no one really explains clearly, the whole system of support, curation, and votes. Sure, we all want recognition, something that pushes us forward, but it’s not always tied to merit or effort.
I’ve been here for almost two years, and I still don’t fully understand how that system works. What I do know is this: every time I sit down in my living room, laptop open, ready to write, I do it for myself. To leave something real behind. To express who I am, what I feel, what I think. Writing is where my humanity shows up first.
Before I even decide on a topic, or which community to post in, or what images to include, I ask myself one thing: is this worth sharing? Is there something here someone else might feel or connect with? Sometimes I get it right, sometimes I don’t. There’s no formula, no guarantees. And honestly, that’s part of the deal. I’m not someone who enjoys sitting in complaints. But I have noticed something, writing as a way to live, to eat, to survive, can get heavy.
Because passion is the intangible part of this whole thing. Sometimes you’re dealing with schedules, expectations, productivity targets, and that’s exactly the part I push against. A few weeks ago, I was going through a rough emotional phase, and ironically, those were the best posts I’ve written this year. I even shared one in the reflections community called Raindrops, and yeah, I genuinely recommend it.
Right now, I feel more stable. More balanced between what I think, what I feel, and what I want. Sometimes I forget I’m human too. That I’m allowed to stop, to breathe, to step away for a moment and reset. I wouldn’t call what I go through writer’s block, not exactly. It’s more like waves. There are moments where I feel completely driven to write, and others where that fire just isn’t there. My life is far from perfect. If I don’t write, I don’t eat. That’s a level of pressure not everyone really understands. Freelancing has its beautiful side, no doubt, but it also comes with a kind of vulnerability that’s hard to explain. You depend entirely on the present moment. And there isn’t always much empathy for that kind of life.
So I deal with the monotony the only way I know how, by turning it into something worth telling. By trying to do something meaningful with whatever I have in front of me. I am who I am. I do what I’ve always known I love. And more importantly, what I know sets me apart. Finding that space where passion, talent, and instinct meet is something we owe ourselves. It might fail sometimes, sure. But what it gives back, to your mind, your identity, your sense of self, that’s impossible to measure. Veni, vidi, vici.