What to Say?

There’s a saying in academia that you shouldn’t write until you have something to say. Maybe that’s why I’ve been quiet these last few months.

It’s not that I don’t know what to say—it’s that I have too much to say. I feel like a volcano about to erupt, and when I do, my lava flows thick and fast in all directions, covering my landscape.

I feel a little weighed down by the lava of my volcano. It’s layering over me, and maybe I’m worried it will set.

Possibly, this is the same feeling one has when they’re almost done with school—that sensation of carrying the weight of the world, and not knowing what to do about it.

And what a world it is today.

Once upon a time, you were born into a town, lived there, walked around a little, and died.

Today, you’re born into a cosmopolitan kaleidoscope where the world is quite literally at your fingertips—even for toddlers, who quickly learn the mechanics of a mobile phone, if privileged to do so.

So within this sense of lava layering over everything, there’s also the volcano itself: an eruption of joy, wonder, and excitement. As a new graduate, there’s a kind of “youthful” enthusiasm one feels. Amid the chaos of our world, the world is also mine to explore—and to do with as I choose.

And herein lies the perplexing problem: what do I want?

It seems like such a simple question—but is it?

This idea of asking “What do I want?”—well, as someone with a people-pleaser personality, what I first ask is, “Well, what do you want?” When it comes to deciding whether to eat sushi or fried chicken, I’m mostly happy to go with the group vote. Yet when it comes to the bigger picture, I’m left wondering: what is it that I truly want?

This question didn’t used to feel so complicated—especially in a small village, where many choices were made for you, or simply didn’t exist.

So maybe, instead of asking, “What do I want?”—a question that implies bringing things to oneself—a better question is: “What do I have to say?”

Rather than waiting to write until I have something fully formed, maybe the better path is to start writing until I discover what I want to say. Maybe the act of writing will help generate clarity amid the expansive world of choices and directions—and both the weight and freedom I feel after the long PhD journey.

Perhaps that old academic saying—Don’t write until you know what to say—is, once again, just another way of keeping the “children” quiet within the academy.

And maybe, in our world today, the only real way to navigate the overwhelming realm of choice is to start talking until we discover what we have to say—and through that process, learn what it is we actually want.

Until next time,

Mon x