I say it all the time: “I’m undefined. I’m not defined.” It’s been in my various social media bios. The line originated from Natasha Bedingfield’s song Unwritten. In the eighth grade, we analyzed Unwritten in music class. I decided then that those lyrics described exactly how I felt about myself.
The song Unwritten is an ode to my life. “I am unwritten, can’t read my mind, I’m undefined
I’m just beginning, the pen’s in my hand, ending unplanned.” These words depict how I feel about myself not only as a writer, but also as a human being. We all write our own story. Every day we’re faced with choices, and we never know when our time will run out. We never know how our life is going to end up. There’s plenty in life we can’t control, but we hold the pen to what we can control.
It’s been ten years, and this song has never stopped playing in my head. It describes me just as much today as it did when I was 14 years old. Sometimes I feel like I’m sitting in the same desk, staring at the same blank piece of paper, unable to figure out where to even start. That piece of paper has been blank for over ten years now.
I’ve realize now that I can’t wait much longer. The last thing I want to happen is for my life to end and for the page to still be blank.
I need to move past the first two lines of this song, because next stanza is where my journey begins:
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find