I always have the best intentions when it comes to writing. I want to write, but I am similar to a Jack Russell Terrier….I’m easily distracted. There is house cleaning and board games and fishing and helping with homework. There is a soft breeze from the window, sunshine, and more house cleaning. There are boxes to sort through, a cat to clean up after, and work. There seems to be something around every corner.
That I can’t seem to find time for writing is a self-admitted cop out in the highest order.
I find that there is a great duality to writing and living a life you love. When I was alone and quite possibly depressed and lonely I had all the time in the world for writing poems and stories. I was submerged in my virtual writing community. I submitted work like it was my job. I put in a lot of time and effort. To look back on it now I can see that it was my religion. It ushered me through the nights when I felt like my life was never going to be more than what it was at that moment. It wasn’t a horrible life when compared to the unfortunate of the world, but I wasn’t personally happy or satisfied. I wrote most of the time because I had something to say about my own personal drama. I look back at the body of work which I have written and it is mostly self-serving and grossly narcissistic.
In 2011 after a blistering hot summer and long car trip from upstate New York to Chicago and back, I had decided that I would need to just be okay with being alone for the rest of my life. I had to learn to be happy in my own presence, with my own words, with the life that was well carved out in front of me. The next month my friend asked me to help him with a blogtalk radio show at 3:30 am. I was tired and had to be up with my kid in 4 hours. I just didn’t want to but he begged and I succumbed.
I met a man on that radio show who has changed the face of my life everyday since that moment. He moved across the country to be with me after a triple dog dare. He came into this apartment and made it a home. He made me laugh and cry and laugh even harder. He opened me back up to the world which I had shunned, living in my bubble. He took my hand and walked me back out into the sun. For the first time in my life, I felt truly loved. Everything around me morphed into something I could be grateful for and I found myself not living on borrowed time.
Over the last year or so I have become accustomed to living in the moment and treading less in the past and not worrying that much about the future. Life is really great this way. Each day is an adventure even if I don’t go anywhere. Together, this life is the most meaningful thing I can think of. In this transformation I have found that the poems and stories are so much harder to find.
Some days I struggle with it. I feel like I am neglecting a child or shitting on my craft, but when I look back on what writing has always been for me I have to smile. I was a little girl recording my life for me, not for anyone else. I wrote it all down to remember where I came from and to see how much I have grown from year to year. The poems come out from time to time as do the stories and photographs and art, but the one thing I count on every day is a smile and the sound of laughter. It is the best poem I have ever read.