OK. I love writing. I have told myself it’s not important, too selfish, too childish for far too long. And it’s been killing me. No really, it has. The longer I stubbornly stave off what I was meant to do, the harder it becomes to remember who I am. I think we have all felt what it feels like to honor ourselves and be true to who we are. And conversely, what it feels like to sell-out on ourselves and bury our gifts under what we feel other people want us to be. It’s a miserable, deadly, feeling. And thus, the soul slowly, and sometimes quickly, begins to wither, rust, break, moan and die. But! Like a water deprived plant, give the soul a little (or a lot) of spiritual sun and water (space, love and inspiration, encouragement, good food like lemon bars and Mexican hot chocolate) and it recovers robustly. And then keep feeding it.
If I have learned one thing, it is to not ignore what makes you feel alive. And then share it relentlessly. The resurrection of this blog marks the the beginning of a leap of faith and courage– to lovingly nurture the joy and depth writing, and being an astute observer, brings to my life. Please enjoy, comment, contribute, think, and repeat. My only hope is that you come away with an impassioned approach to life and what makes you come alive. And then my next and only hope is that you begin to share it relentlessly….and tell me about it. I want to know! The following is an answer to the statement: “Why I write….”
Writer. Thinker. Lover. Friend. Brother. Student. Cook. Nurse. Counselor. Mentor. Teacher.
Have you thought about how multi-faceted you are? You are more than what you do of course. But through listing the titles of things you do, you begin to see that you are much more than you think you are. You’re not in a box. You’re not just a 19 year old. You’re not just a boy, girl, dog, spider. Challenge yourself to see beyond what you think you are; what you think your life is; what you think the world is; what you think God is.
Ask ask ask. Listen listen listen. Seek seek seek. Take action. Move. Follow your nose. Become quiet. Get loud. Laugh. Cry. Scream. Rejoice. Life is as deep as you take it. How willing are you to dive in and seek the living truth and live it? To me, this is a thrilling and profoundly challenging life work.
I am unconsciously asking myself that same question (“How willing am I to dive in and seek the living truth and live it?”) every time I write. To me, writing is about discovery, expansion, depth, release, learning, gratitude, healing, prayer and scaring yourself. Writing to me is always an act of courage. It is an activity produced automatically by listening, and being willing to record what you hear. The comma after “listening” is intentional. Taking a breath, inspiring, pausing in it, are essential to a writer, to me. It is the vestibule in which I have the pleasure and delightful horror of seeing creation. I say horror in terms of “awesome”. When the concept of who you are and what the world is expands, I have learned that you had better be ready to follow.
As I write, I learn continuously more and more about what it means to serve my community, humanity, my world, through my gift. Art inspires, uplifts, cautions, heals, exposes injustice, brings worlds and nations, individuals and families, together. It is not personal. I see it as a responsibility to always be asking myself: “Am I writing ‘truth’? Am I serving through my work, or am I at all letting it become a brackish ditch of self-absorption?” Art is dead that is not honest and selfless. I strive to be honest. Humble. A listener. A courageous warrior. A child. And thus, I write! I love my life.