Write. I will do many things in life, but writing, I’m beginning to believe, is my home. It is the place to which I’m meant to return, no matter what the journey holds. Over the years, I have intentionally ignored writing. I have deliberately deviated from any related path. I have constructed boatloads of excuses. I have reasoned that I’ll never be a master, so why bother dumping more mediocre works in the vast diluted literary sea?
But then it struck me. What would happen if all mothers adopted the same negative mentality? “I’ll never be the best mother in the world, so why even bother trying at all?” The very notion is insane. The value of a mother is not that she reigns victorious, rising above the rest to beat out all others for the ultimate “Mom Merit Badge.” Rather, regardless of the circumstances she finds herself in, she must be the very best nurturer, supporter, love-giver, teacher, and companion she can be to the precious blessings who fill her home.
Right now, writing is my child. And so, I will write.
As the days pass, many different emotions will knock on my door. Some days, Awful will arrive. Mentally, I will kick and scream and rudely rebel against the very notion of paper and pen. Some days, Better will be the visitor. I will be hopeful, oh, so hopeful, and the distant future will be lit in a glorious golden glow of unending possibilities. Some days, Perfect will appear. In those rare moments, I will simply sigh and sink satisfied into affectionate embrace of extraordinary outcomes. Then, I assume, I will again encounter Awful. But I will always answer the door. I will post. I will learn. I will gradually influence the outcomes, improving as I grow. I will push myself onward, overcoming the obstacles. Life is too short to dream of soaring and never test your wings!
And so, I will write.
(This post was originally published on my previous blog, Interim Arts, in May, 2013)