You ever see a human being walked by their dog?

The scene is this: it's about thirty degrees Fahrenheit, cloudy, with specks of drizzling rain icily pecking at my face. All the while, a dog is walking me this morning—full speed, with the power of a young hunter about to find his prey(squirrel, cat, and/or a leaf that looked at them funny).

I am running, jogging, sprinting, and hobbling while the leash gives me rope burn on my frozen hands. The neighborhood, as well as their dogs I am sure, hears my pleas, curses, commands, and heavy breathing through a chilled throat. The dog doesn't care. In all honesty, if they could talk, they would be yelling at me to "hurry up—there's a world to see!"

At some point, I step in mud, and at another point, I step in shit. I am also trying to make sure the dog doesn't eat shit. Then, finally, I watch the dog shit.

At least, for a moment, I can breathe. Sort of.

Real life or metaphor?

The answer is yes.

Now the writing...hmm, maybe that's the smell or the shit bag breaking, or a neighbor hearing me muttering to myself (or talking to a divine I'm not sure that I really believe in) and having to play it off as if I'm talking to someone via AirPods (I have an Android and no money for anything Apple-related, not even the one you eat because honeycrisp is my favorite, but unfortunately way too godsdamn expensive) — and right, the writing. It's hard and frustrating, and powers that lingering God of Hopelessness that didn't used to be a God, but as the child grows smaller, the word grows so much heavier.

But it also powers the opposite too.

How? I don't know, but both hurt in their own way.

*

What's better validation than winning anything related to your hopes, fears, and anxiety attacks? Better yet, getting money for it?

I had to try once more—the thousandth time. It started with a competition a few years back that Vocal created. Whether Instagram informed me through a little ad or I Googled "writing competitions," I really have no idea. And I don't remember the competition either, but it's what got me to join. I had never heard of the site, though it gave me a reason to try and get my writing seen by someone—even though the thought of someone reading anything of mine would make me feel icky and vulnerable.

Writing this now feeds the bad thoughts.

(Don't worry, there are some egotistical ones too.)

When I first published a story, I had mixed emotions. Half of me was unhappy that it didn't get any reads; the other half quite elated. There is something about a human reading your story—possibly understanding the words between the lines, possibly seeing something private about yourself that you didn't even know you wrote down, possibly realizing that every hour you spent on writing was for nothing because it's actually all horrible. And you yourself might already think it's horrible, but the possibility of the validation of that? Oof.

All of this is frightening. Too much. Overwhelming.

At least a dog doesn't care if I'm covered in—well, you know.

I took breaks from Vocal, always coming back when a competition they posted gave me inspiration. It fed that engine my mind that wants to write, especially for a reason because that reason was an excuse for me to keep hoping and to keep trying. Ever so gently lifting that godly heavy weight. And I need all the excuses I can get.

*

Time went by, the world changed three times over, but I stayed the same (unfortunately).

Slowly, I wrote.

Slowly, I posted.

Slowly, I gained a few glances.

Then one day, I got a positive comment. So, naturally, I read my writing about thirty times after, trying to find how this commenter could be wrong (I do this more often than I would like to admit). All the changes and edits I could have done. The more efficient I could have been. The harder work I could have put into it. And this and that and this....

Perfection? No. At least, I believe I can get something close to it. And I am well aware of the downfall of that thought process.

More time went by and I got more comments and likes and top stories. I started getting a little used to being read and in turn gained more confidence (ego?). All because I had a platform that let me creak open a door, a window, a small air vent in a very, and I mean very, big wall.

Vocal helped me show up because somehow they are pretty good at finding me when it's my turn to hide in the game of hide and seek (who's the seeker? Well, it depends on how strong my beliefs are and if I can afford an apple). In 2024, I will keep showing up because Vocal is the place that started this change in myself.

I want to keep writing on this platform.

I want to keep building up this strange, unfamiliar confidence.

I want this dog to slow the F down so I can enjoy our walk, but again, I need to hurry up because there is a whole world to see.

And writing on Vocal in 2024 will add to my chaotic walk, either sending in another hyper dog walking their human, or the soles of my old, cheap shoes deciding to tear, or maybe the icy drizzle will turn to rain, or maybe the leash will break, and I will have to sprint as hard as I can to chase this dog.

But hopefully, the chaos is just what I need to keep walking.