I sit. Waiting for the feeling to pass over me into my fingertips. That pull to write. To create. To empty the swirling thoughts in my head onto this blank space. I search in my head for what is on my mind – really on it. Because I can’t write what isn’t tugging at me to be written; whether it be drama or humor or simply life.
As I wait, the question lingers. Always. “What are you doing this for?”
And so many answers. All of which seem hollow to me in some way. “Love of writing” “Creating” “Connecting”
Tonight I looked at Sam across the room. I finally voiced what I’ve been thinking for a while.
“What if writing is what I want to do? What if I go to BlogHer and come home with an absolute certainty that this is what fulfills me as a creative outlet, as work, as part of who I am?”
He smiles. Ever supportive. “Then do it – and do it well.”
I hesitate. Part of me screams, “What is wrong with you? It’s never going to go anywhere! Fun and games and wasting time.” Yet, another part of me has a tiny voice that says, “But if…”
If I threw my entire self into it.
If I had a direction.
If I allowed my confidence to shine through.
If I found my passion in writing – the topics I want to shed light on.
If I understood how to channel all I’ve learned these past 18 months into something more than simply me.
If I could do all this, if I found the path beneath my feet and was able to create. To help. To empower. To make a change.
I think I would fully accept that this – sitting here and creating a place for my thoughts – is what I am meant to do. This is my passion. My work. That nothing I do as a job or a hobby will ever come close to how this feels. How when I’m done here, when my thoughts cease, it’s as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders and peace settles over me.
So many fears and practicalities hold me back. And I wonder if I will ever let go and let what this is, the writing and blogging, be the part of me that is missing. I wonder if I did, what this could become.
I think I know this is what I want to do.