“I firmly believe that doing what you love involves doing what you once loved as a kid. That thing you were good at. That thing you’d sneak away from your chores to do. Your history tells you everything you ever wanted to know about living your dream.”
– Catherine Hughes
I have been wanting to do a blog about writing for a while. (In other words, I’ve wanted to write about writing.) But I didn’t really know where to go with it. I write about everything that matters to me – my kids, my boyfriend, my family, my running, my acting, etc. – but I’ve never known exactly how to write about writing. Just seemed like an odd thing to write about. A little redundant even. But yet, it nagged at me. Somehow, I needed to do it.
And then I read a blog by Catherine Hughes that contained the quote above. (Here’s a link to the blog if you want to check it out. It’s a good one!)
And finally, I realized where I wanted to go with this.
I am a writer.
Wow. Just saying that sounds odd. A writer. Me? Really?
Like the quote implies, maybe a small part of you knew who you were and who you were meant to be from the very beginning. What did you sneak away to do as a kid? Me? I wrote. Really. I can remember this old trapper keeper (oh yeah, we’re taking it old school now) that I used to have that was filled to the brim with little poems and notes that I would write as a pre-teen. They started getting pretty good when I got into my teenage years (even if I do say so myself). Heck, even back as far as when I was pre-school age, I would make my dad and grandma “play school” with me, and my assignments to them (I was the teacher, of course) were always to write stories or essays. My grandma still has some of these in storage and they are a hoot to read. I was not a very gracious teacher. I didn’t see an “A” in the bunch. There went their dreams of being writers…
Now, granted, I don’t make money being a writer. It’s not my profession, so to speak. But does that mean I’m not one? Nope. Does that mean I’m not “living my dream” because my paycheck doesn’t come from what I love? Of course not.
I am a writer.
Yes, I have a “regular” job. I’m a real estate paralegal. While real estate may not be my “dream” per se, I’m actually kind of good at it. It’s what I know, and all I’ve done since college. Am I ‘selling out’ because I’m not following my dreams to be a writer? Of course not. I’m doing what it takes to take care of myself and my kids. To keep food in our mouths and a roof over our heads. I’m being a responsible adult. I’m not going to win any awards for that. No nobel peace prize officials are going to be knocking on my door to alert me of my candidacy based on my excellent ability to close a loan refinance or cut the crusts off a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. But I don’t need that. Watching my kids grow up in comfort and become wonderful young adults is all the award I need.
But in the down times, in the quiet times, I sneak off and become me. I write.
And for the longest time, I kept that somewhat secret. My childhood trapper keeper eventually turned to a folder, which then turned into a file on the computer, which then morphed into a private blog, and which now has become this public blog you’re reading now. I’ve always been a writer. I’m just finally admitting it, and taking that scary leap into exposing my writing for others to see.
No, I’m not gaining fame and fortune with my writing. But I am indeed living my dream. And I thank each and every one of you who haven’t run away.
“The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.”
– Anais Nin