I remember years ago having fantasies about being a writer and running away to a secluded cabin somewhere because obviously writers are tortured souls that need complete solitude to hone their craft, right?
In my head it was a cottage in Ireland.
Set amongst the lush green hills it was tiny, but was all mine for those few months. There was a flower garden to the side that I would pick from to keep in old glass bottles in each room. A battered, but sturdy porch on which I would sit for hours writing the next bestseller whilst the birds chirped and the breeze blew. And, of course, I would wave at the little old lady that would walk past said cottage at the same time every day to make her trek to the market.
As you do.
Then life happened and years went by and sometimes, if you don’t keep your focus on the things your heart whispers to you then time inevitably silences them.
And then life happens again and things start to go terribly wrong. Somewhere, somehow, you made a wrong turn and didn’t realize it until it was almost too late, but because you were thrown a life preserver in the form of people or just the realization that you simply could not go on that way anymore you muster up a tiny bit of strength to find the right path again.
You find that the new path can still be heartbreaking because you’re more aware now than you’ve ever been about how things affect you and perhaps why you make the decisions you do.
But, it’s also beautiful. It’s a place that you discover all these new things in your world. Things your mind or heart somehow refused for you to see before.
You also find that the new path forces you to find an outlet for this new journey of yours. For some it’s regular conversations with friends to vent or a new hobby or a $200 an hour therapist. To each his own.
For me, it’s writing. It’s my therapy. I have ideas that rush in my head all the time. Life is also just plain funny and sometimes you just need to share. When I get a “post” in my head it drives me nuts until I get it out. And sometimes I re-read it obsessively even after I’ve hit the publish button. Others I don’t dare read again because it physically hurts to much.
Either way, every time I put something out there I feel like another tiny part of me has healed. Another raw edge has smoothed out.
I want to write.
Those four words are faint whispers that have echoed in the far away corners of my heart for a very long time. Longer than pretty much anyone knows. And quite honestly it puts a lump in my throat so huge I have a very hard time understanding it.
I know what you’re thinking……”Um, pretty sure you’re writing now.” Yeah, I get that.
You see, I went “away” to college for my Freshman year not having a clue of what I wanted to do. Of who I was supposed to be. Because of that, I was promptly sent home a year later because I just didn’t care. (Had loads of fun though, but those are stories for another time.) Why in the world am I going to school if I don’t know what I’m doing here?
And then by fate, I found my current profession and spent my twenties exposed to things that people even decades into their career don’t get to experience.
I’m grateful for my job and the experiences it brings me. And damn good at it too. Most days I even love it.
But then comes that whisper again. And it’s getting louder. And it completely terrifies me.
I have absolutely no idea what to do with it. I mean, of course, I did what any smart person in this day and age would do and googled, “How to be a writer.” Duh. But that brought on a whole lot of stuff that’s hard to process. I don’t do well with being told “what” to do. If it feels like work I’m likely not to touch it.
So, what DOES this all mean?
It means I’m still searching. It may mean that all I’m meant to do is keep pouring my random thoughts into this blog to share with its 5.3 readers. And I’m ok with that most of the time. But the whispers keep coming.
All I know is I can’t ignore the whispers anymore even if they send my stomach into knots and my heart into palpitations and my soul into a gut-wrenching fear.
Dramatic? Maybe….but that’s how I imagine it would be written.
I have some ideas so I’m going to chew on them. It’s just another lesson in life where I’m learning to enjoy the journey and not batter it with too many questions. I’ll just have to see where it goes.
Thanks for hanging in with me.
Oh…..and if you happen to have a tiny cottage in the middle-of-nowhere-Ireland to rent. Keep it open for me, will ya? I might just need a place to figure this out.