Reflecting Back on Past Essays and Writing
The stack is about three inches tall—roughly nine manila file folders’ worth. Inside them lies three years of intense writing from my undergraduate studies, created 15 years ago while earning my degree in journalism with a minor in creative writing. The sheer volume of writing I crammed into those years burned me out, prompting me to pivot to the business world for employment immediately after college. It would take me five years to pick up a pen and notepad again, this time as a reporter for a small rural newspaper in Wisconsin.
I stayed at the Daily Citizen for only nine months. My beat covering crime and county government didn’t exactly ignite the same creative spark I’d experienced during my college days. Still, the job gave me confidence. It confirmed that I had what it took to be a reporter, even if news writing wasn’t my ultimate passion.
After leaving the Citizen, I didn’t write much for a while. A couple of years later, I started a blog where I occasionally wrote personal essays and pop-culture commentaries. But those posts were sporadic, and I wouldn’t call them my best work. Still, I’ve stuck with blogging, and I now see it as a way to continue evolving—refining my craft, my process, and my voice.
Rediscovering the Past
Since completing those college courses, I haven’t read through or even looked at the essays, articles, or fragmented notes in those manila folders. And yet, I’ve kept them. First, I stored them at my mother’s house. Later, I packed and shipped them with me during various moves around the country. Now, here they sit on my desk, unearthed during one of my infamous office reorganization binges—a lifestyle ritual that comes with being an enthusiastic organizer.
I ask myself, Why do I keep these? Why not just toss them into the recycle bin if I never bother to read them?
Today, I decided to take a peek. The top folder was labeled “English 3104: Creative Writing.” Inside, I found assignments and essays I’d written on a variety of topics. Some were responses to analyzing other writers’ work or process. Others were deeply personal essays about my parents’ divorce, my grandmother’s passing, and coming of age as a disabled youth.
Truth be told, some of it is cringe-worthy. Cliché-filled with predictable structure, some of it reads like the writing of someone still learning the craft (because I was). But then there are pieces that surprised me—work that’s better than I remembered, better than I currently give myself credit for as a writer.
Maybe this is why I’ve kept these folders all this time. Deep down, I’ve always known that, no matter where life takes me, I’ll always come back to writing. And maybe, just maybe, I knew these early writings would one day become an essential part of my toolkit—a guide for my continued growth and ultimate success.
It reminds me of a quote from the late Steve Jobs:
You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward.
Only time will tell how the dots of my writing process will connect. But being able to look back at who I was—writing about pivotal moments and events that I’m still reflecting on today—will only help me grow as a more authentic and honest writer.
The Beauty of Time and Perspective
At 20 years old, I never could have appreciated how much those assignments, and those years of writing, would mean to me now. At 35, I see them differently. I see the value in revisiting those early attempts, the seeds of the writer I’m still becoming.
This, I think, is one of the beautifully mysterious miracles of getting older: the ability to learn from your younger self, to live through experiences with new insight, and to share your journey with the world.
Those manila folders may not look like much from the outside, but to me, they represent something invaluable: the foundation of my voice, the evolution of my craft, and the proof that every dot—no matter how small—has a place in the bigger picture.
