We are not trapped or locked up in these bones. No, no. We are free to change.

Walter Mosley

I’ve folded my laundry, I’ve painted my nails, I’ve washed off a face mask . I’m out of things to do to procrastinate my first post. So why even start a book blog if I’m already putting it off?

I have always been afraid. New things, new experiences, new fears. In high school, I was scared of reading classic literature, because what if I didn’t understand it? In college, I was scared of analyzing texts and writing papers, because what if they weren’t as good as the other students’ work? And now, freshly graduated, stuck in a staring contest with the future, I am scared for a plethora of reasons.

Of course, the major and minor terrors that everyone faces haunt me, as well: Will the nuclear war start before or after climate disaster kills off most of humanity? Will I even survive that long, given that I can’t find a “grown-up” job? Does my dog really love me? If the answer is “no,” can I survive that?

Underneath that, though, is the gnarled anxiety that I think latches onto every person with an English degree, belly-laughing in the back of our brains only when it will hurt the most: Was this worth it? I can’t tell you how many STEM majors and graduates basically laughed at me when I was an undergrad, or asked if I planned on being an elementary teacher. Let me be perfectly clear: I have far too much respect for teachers to pretend that my English degree has made me nearly as capable in a classroom as my peers who chose to pursue Education. I would be flattered by the misunderstanding, if it didn’t come from such an easy disregard for what either degree teaches.

As much as I loathed the question (and, truthfully, a lot of the people asking it), I am terrified that they were right. I graduated with the desire to be an editor, but unless I find the money to move to New York soon, that’s going to have to wait. Right now, I work in a mall. I sell shoes. The most valuable thing I’ve gained in the past two months is the ability to identify a Fila Disruptor II from below. If this is what happens after spending four years on a degree, did I waste my time? Does my piece of paper that I paid thousands for mean anything?

Of course it does. Beyond knowing the books I’ve read in the past four years, I now know how to read. I can analyze anything through a number of lenses, and I can read the importance of a text, both in its historical context and in the modern world. I also know how to write. As much as I despised those essays, they taught me structures, thought processes, and skills that I didn’t know I could possess. The creative writing classes allowed me to refine my stream of consciousness, and brought entire worlds from my mind to the physical bindings of paper and ink. The personal gratification of holding a story in my hand, published or simply printed at home, when it has solely existed inside my brain for years, justifies my diploma at least a little.

So. Why start a blog? I’ve been tossed into the real world, stuck somewhere between “sorry, we’ve decided to go with another candidate” and “would you like to see a size in that style?” I save every dollar I can, and I plan to move in a year. I have been certified as a substitute teacher, and am aiming to become a paraprofessional for a year, just to make some extra money (this last qualification is for my sake, so I know that I didn’t let those question-askers win).

With these goals and jobs monopolizing my time, I am so scared that I will lose bits of my education. Imagine it: I finally save the money to move to a city with a publishing community, and then I can’t remember how to edit! That’s my nightmare. This blog will serve as a space where I can continuously practice my writing and editing skills, and still pursue my love of literature. I don’t ever want to get so busy that I can’t read for fun — which, coincidentally, was how I spent a lot of my college time — and I never want to lose the ability to truly read books, to go deeper than the words on the page.

More importantly, though, I want to explore feelings, something often underappreciated in a formal education. I’ve written countless papers studying hidden implications and connections in literature, but very little about the emotions evoked by the writing. Here at Pothos & Pathos, I want to make up for that lost portion of study. I want to focus on reading what I choose, and on what feelings texts bring to me and to the world.

The posts here will be a mix of personal essays and book reviews, and ideally will be a weekly thing. The personal essays will be my way of connecting to the book of the week, if possible, or just an outlet for my creativity. Everything is going to be new and perhaps in need of shaping and refining, and I can’t wait to begin.

I won’t say that I’m not afraid anymore. That would be a lie. Instead, I think I’m afraid of not getting started and of missing my chance. So, here we go. Happy growing.