I remember in elementary school passing notes to the student next to me so it could make it to the boy in the far back. The note, carefully crafted by me and written in pencil with a few hearts scribbled, read the following: “Do you like me: Yes or No?” 

As juvenile as this sounds it fostered my love for writing, I’ve grown from passing a note in class to sharing my words with the world. Moments like that shape future writers like me, from the juvenile notes to the high school essay asking what the green light represents in “The Great Gatsby,” and to finally becoming a journalist. 

But as I grew and went from the person writing to the person proofing the writing, I realized that the enthusiasm for writing just isn’t there anymore.   

So why did the world stop writing? 

I believe it’s society’s fear of vulnerability. Writing makes you vulnerable. When you put words on paper (or, let’s be honest, on a screen), you put yourself at risk of criticism. We live in a culture that’s screenshot-friendly, one that installs fear into our hearts. 

Thus, we shorten our sentences from “I love you,” to “Ily.” 

We send the pink heart rather than the red heart because the red heart means too much. 

We refrain from “talking too much” online about the things we care so passionately and deeply about because we may not seem nonchalant to our followers anymore. 

We stopped writing at the risk of showing our true selves. 

I wish we didn’t, though … I wish we stopped saying people stopped writing because it simply doesn’t matter anymore but acknowledge that the world stopped writing because of how powerful pen to paper (or, let’s face it, keyboard to screen) is. 

Writing created one of the most vulnerable and impactful speeches in history: “I Have a Dream.” 

Writing builds movements and tears them down. Writing preserves history. Writing clarifies who we are when the world doesn’t. 

But most importantly, writing makes us vulnerable, which is a good thing, if I haven’t proven that already. 

As a journalist, I want to write longer, better, and ask harder questions.  I don’t want to fill a word count but rather fill a gap in the world’s understanding of something. 

Hopefully, we heal as a world and understand that allowing our vulnerability to shine through writing is a good thing. 

But most importantly, to all the educators, let that kid pass the silly note; they may grow up and heal our writing crisis.