To The One

I use to strive for the masses. I would do anything for them. I would try to out do myself with every word I would write, I would try every synonym in the book to attract more, be more, achieve more. I would not be satisfied until my pieces reached millions. I have written over 100 pieces in my career as a published writer and journalist. Out of those 100 pieces only two have reached over 1,000,000 views and clicks. Imagine the emptiness I felt with that being my end goal but only ever achieving it twice. 

I would spend hours scanning my sentences, critiquing myself, having others critique me, finding worth in my ability in every exclamation mark or comma. How freaking exhausting I made life. I love writing more than I love breathing, the way a single piece makes me feel when I hit submit or complete is equivalent to how the Cubs must have felt when they finally won the World Series; ecstatic. 

When I started allowing myself to love writing to the point where it only mattered how many people it reached instead of the kind of impact it could possibly have on people, is when I started losing myself to the masses I once strived to lead. 

Now, I write for the one. The one person that could possibly relate, the one person that would understand. The one person that the piece would matter for, the one that would be able to breathe again, to not feel so alone after reading, the one that would fall in love again or fall out of love with the never ending carousel of toxicity. Most times when I sit down I don’t think of the target audience, the one thing as writers we have ingrained in our brains from the early stages. I don’t really care to reach a target audience, I sit down and I want to reach the one. 

The one that is just like me, a little lost, a little confused looking for an answer. Looking to feel not so alone in this big world, searching for a little brightness amongst the dark, a little light hearted laughter amongst the pain.

Most of the time if you go back and re read my pieces a little exert seems misplaced amidst the flow of my work, a sentence or a paragraph seems like it was just flopped on the page. Each piece I write I think of someone, a real life person that I believe God has placed on my heart and I write for them. In the parts that seem random, I leave behind an Easter egg where that person might even for a moment feel like this piece is for them, something small that they will only understand. 

I do this because that is what God does for me, everyday. He doesn’t care for the masses, He cares for me. He doesn’t care to stick around or write for the 99, He chases after, searches for, that one. He leaves clues behind to remind me He has been exactly where I am standing, to show me that He has gone before me. He leaves little things behind that only I will notice, that only I will understand. I want everyone to feel that way. 

All I want, all I feel called to, all I want to achieve is the one. You.

“On the mountains I will bow my life,

To the one who sent me there. 

In the valley I will lift my eyes,

To the one who sees me there.

When I’m standing on the mountain,

I didn’t get there on my own.

When I’m walking through the valley,

I know I am not alone.”

MacKenzie Nicole