When I told a few friends that I was thinking about naming my future blog “The Laughing Medusa” I received mixed responses. My roommate went so far as to tell me that I would come off as sounding like a “man hater” (his language may have been more colourful). However, knowing for months that I wanted to start this blog I had wracked my brain for the perfect name but being a little late to the blogging game, all of my brilliant ideas had already been snatched up. It wasn’t until I was reading through a little notebook that I use to record quotes and phrases that catch my fancy that I found this:

“You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her. And she’s not deadly. She’s beautiful and she’s laughing.”
— Hélène Cixous

It’s a quote from her essay “The Laugh of the Medusa,” which I read in a second year class on “French Feminisms.” In it Cixous attempts to define a new, feminine mode of writing, which she is careful to note is not purely associated with women (she names James Joyce as a definitive example). Rather she emphasizes a style of writing that flows freely from the body and in this way seeks to dismantle the rigid patriarchal structures that have long held women (and humanity more generally) captive. She urges us to write openly and honestly so that we can reclaim our bodies, make room for subversive thought, and insert ourselves into history in a meaningful way.

These ideas seem closely related to my own project in many ways. I’m in that ambiguous state of being a twenty-something grad trying to answer the inevitable, “Now what?” I started this blog to chronicle the process of reinvention and becoming that we are all continuously acting out so that I might take it up with intent and self-awareness.  So, while I may not “write in white ink” as Cixous describes it, I am struggling to find a voice that is authentically my own.

The name also appealed to me in that it is playful, draws on mythology, and eludes to the dissolution of traditional gender norms, all things that are totally up my alley. So here I am, The Laughing Medusa.

But now I’m faced with a new problem. My blog has a name and it has nothing to do with hating men but how do I explain my inspiration without coming off as some kind of pretentious, academic jerk?

Some might say that’s just who I am (meanies!) but let’s set the record straight: This is not a blog about philosophy or feminism or any particular academic pursuit, except for insofar as those subjects relate to my life. I’m just a girl (woman? Oh dear, am I relating to a Britney Spears song?) carving out her own little space on this  great interweb of ours.

“Woman must write herself: must write about women and bring women to writing, from which they have been driven away as violently as from their bodies – for the same reasons, by the same law, with the same fatal goal. woman must put herself into the text – as into the world and into history – by her own movement.”
— Hélène Cixous

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I graduated from a liberal arts undergraduate program in April and, unlike many of my peers, thought I was ready for what would come. I shrugged off suggestions that I too would succumb to the post-grad anxiety and feelings of been under-qualified that had already caught up to many of them. I knew exactly what I was going to do: “Get a job in communications at a non-profit.” People would look at me incredulously while asking if I planned to be poor for the rest of my life but it was a concrete answer. I could say it with confidence. I’d said it to so many people I didn’t even question it. It was definitely easier than explaining my untraditional degree but, when it came time to start applying for the jobs I’d dreamed of, I found myself unable to muster any passion at the thought of getting them.

For the first time in 19 years I didn’t have another year of school to plan my life according to and instead was forced to face my open future. What came next would be almost entirely of my choosing and it was hard not to feel like these choices were going to have a significant baring on my future. After all, they would supposedly shape the rest of my career. It was frightening but also liberating to realize I had no set path to follow or master plan fall back on.  I had recently taken an introductory course in existentialism so I had been acquainted with the idea of my own radical freedom yet I did not feel at all prepared to handle it. However, as I began to ask myself what it was I did want to do there was one thing I couldn’t deny: I still want to make my living with words, just not in the way I had thought. I want to develop a creative career built on communication and passion. I want to play with words all day; sculpting them to say exactly what I mean, arranging them on paper, trimming them down to create the picture I want. I want to be a writer.

It’s not like this realization came out of nowhere. It makes perfect sense. Since I was a little girl I have been furiously documenting my life, creating my own books and magazines, reading voraciously, and dreaming up fantastical situations in my head. But I hadn’t thought about it as a real, available-to-me possibility in a long time. How could I possibly make a living writing? What would that look like? Could I be successful in such a vulnerable and competitive industry? I’m still not sure but I’ve decided to try.

For the past year the phrase “This is the first day of the rest of your life” has really resonated with me. I’ve felt like I’m on the verge on entering a new stage of my life but didn’t think I could make the leap. I finally feel like I’m taking the first steps into this new part of my life. I’ve found a dream job, I’m moving into my first apartment next month (I’ve lived with roommates for the past 4 years) and I’m constantly being faced with reminders of the fact that my choices shape who I am. I can create the life I want. While I still feel mired by the uncertainty of the future and the weight of my existential responsibility I also feel empowered to take up these challenges; to take up my life and shape it in the image of my dreams.