What is a Writer?

What defines someone who writes.

Unless someone is functionally illiterate or below the age of comprehension, we, as adults, all tend to write.

But what I mean here is someone who purposefully and intentionally writes, whether for themselves or an audience—for emotional impact, education, instruction, or even just plain old entertainment.

This identity of a Writer is one that I’ve been trying on for size since high school, nearly 40 years now in one form or another. And most recently I unearthed my entire blog circa 2003-2006, or as much as could be excavated from the depths of the internet. Still amazed to see that it survived six homes, a marriage, a divorce, three careers and countless blog platforms, laptops, phones, and notebooks. It remained, like a time capsule, ready to be opened when the time and circumstances were right.

I’ve only just started cracking open the spine of the archive, and I’d like to revisit some themes and observations of the time—and apply a lens of twenty plus years experience and, hopefully, maturity.

It comes at a time of deep reflection, not quite a midlife crisis, not a complete reinvention. Rather it’s a time of extraction of those elements that don’t seem to quite fit into this life I’m (im)patiently constructing along with integration of those things that have always been there, under the surface, waiting for their chance to surface for a gulp of air.

I recently watched the latest Apple song and dance about the newest features and advancements coming to their platforms. At times engaging and others, pedestrian; what struck me most, and if I’m being honest, inspired some misty-eyed contemplation, was the heartfelt message from Tim Cook as he steps down this summer as CEO.

What moved me wasn’t Apple Intelligence.

It wasn’t Liquid Glass.

It certainly wasn’t the time spent on describing child digital protections.

It was a man standing in the midst of Apple Park after decades of work and essentially saying: “Thank you for letting me spend my life doing something that mattered to me.”

And maybe that’s what had me feel something coming from beneath the waves; this sense that what I’ve been searching for has been to leave a legacy of something that matters to me.

As a personal trainer and coach, I get to see the impact I have on others on a nearly daily basis.

A client squats 300 pounds.

Or tells me they no longer hate their body.

The data clearly demonstrates objectively they’ve become stronger.

The feedback loop is immediate. By contrast, as a writer, I may never know.

Someone may read something I wrote this year.

Or 2036. Or never.

Or after I’m gone.

A sentence changes how they see themselves.

And I may never hear about it.

As a legacy, writing is a strange legacy vehicle.

It’s influence without visibility.

So what defines me, or me as a writer, specifically. How does that reconcile with my identity as a trainer? What’s the common thread?

It’s belief.

Belief that we, people, are more capable, more resilient, and more alive than we realize.

As a coach, I can prove it through the body, through data, through reps and sets.

As a writer, I explore those themes through story, reflection, and meaning.

Same mission.

Different instrument.

So what defines a writer, or me as a writer, specifically.

One word.

Belief.