Many a night I’ve punished myself for not reaching the self inflicted deadline I create. I’ve imagined coming home from a 9 or 10 hour day, sitting at my table with a nice tumbler of whiskey in hand and letting the words go! Oh! The stories I’ve thought of in my mind! An endless pool of ideas to fall into, coming to surface small bubbles of…….nothing. There was a long period of time when I had forgotten my love for writing, sweeping it under the rug like unwanted dust, too lazy to address. It piled up of course, I itched to let it out and share my words with others. I was a huge hoarder of my writing for so long that I got used to living amongst the ideas, the piles, the mountains of things in my own mind, at times suffocating me senseless, in turn making for a not so pretty rant of emotion, unbeknownst to whomever was on the receiving end.
My 15 year old son was a big influence of me starting this blog. I’m grateful to that young man for creating his own space in this life. I push him to share himself with the world, why was I hiding? The critical fear can be paralyzing. So I tread softly, until my steps become strong and unwavering. I’m getting used to giving myself deadlines or yet…just letting it come as it may. There are times when I walk by my laptop not meaning to write but sit down anyway, and create something beautiful out of nothing. That’s when I come alive. In those moments the truth is apparent, so raw and real, words flow without pressure. I revel in those moments. Wasted days or wasted nights? There aren’t any. The time you take to sit, run, jump or play towards what matters most to you is never time wasted. What a way to live.