By Allison Stein
“Life is short. There is no time to leave important words unsaid.” The message of Paulo Coelho penetrates my heart as I taste again my greatest regret—silence. Some say silence is a sound, or the absence of sound. But no, silence is a feeling. It was the empty feeling of never knowing how far my voice and my courage could take me. It was the hollow emotion I could not be free from until I picked up a pencil and spoke from my soul. And it was the reason I dedicated my life to the goal of setting someone else free.
My goal was to make a difference to somebody, somewhere. Just one person. Just one person who needed to hear what I needed to say. Through my writing, I could finally speak, and I wanted to show others that they, too, had causes to advocate and voices to make heard. I wanted to teach them the lesson I had ultimately learned—that our words liberate us from the emotional vacancy of silence.
At age 10, I took a chance on my words for the first time. Immersed in my passion for journalism, I submitted a story to Amazing Kids! Magazine, an online nonprofit with the mission of inspiring kids to write. While the editors rejected this initial effort, I found through the publication a sense of community and compassion. Here was a group of editors willing to invest time in nurturing talent. This was a mission I came to be part of.
Twelve months later, I had accumulated acceptances and was offered a position as a contributing writer. For the next three years, I learned about grammar and word choice and sentence structure—but most importantly, I learned to write honestly. I learned to let myself be vulnerable, and I learned to be proud of the inner strength it took to break down those emotional walls I had spent years building. To finally let the world in was to find a place and purpose within that world.
I accepted the opportunity to serve as a column editor shortly after my fifteenth birthday. The experience was full of small miracles, but the most special moment came unexpectedly, when a young author whose work I had recently agreed to publish wrote me a heartfelt thank-you. This stranger let me know that his teachers were proud and his father cried tears of joy upon reading the acceptance email. That memory is a gift.
Eight years have passed since I gingerly composed that first submission to Amazing Kids! Magazine. Last spring, I transitioned into the position of editorial advisor. I have spent the time between then and now living and learning—each and every day—what I want to take away from my life, what I have to give, and why I need to speak. Above all, I have solidified in my heart my deepest dream as an aspiring journalist: I still live to make a difference, one person at a time.