Born to Write

A friend of mine who blogs (and lives) beautifully has deemed every Wednesday "writing Wednesday." I've been attempting to figure out when in the world I can carve time just to sit and write, and although I don't know that every Wednesday will work, I like the moniker and would like to give it a try. I figure if I get up at 5:00 to work out Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, I can take a break from the gym on Wednesday to use the time for writing (and I can sleep a bit later since my brain doesn't really start working until 6:00 . . . which is a scary thought if you're one of the other drivers on the road at 5:30 when I'm driving to the gym). For me, writing is an outlet and exercise for my soul as much as working out is for my body. That's my justification, and I'm sticking to it. (Although, as previously noted, sticking to Writing Wednesday may not always be feasible, and even if I do write on Wednesday, I am likely to be interrupted or distracted, so I am not calling it "publishing a blog Wednesday," and I also like to proofread my writing several hours later, before publishing, so I will probably end up publishing on Thursday when I do publish . . . but I digress.)

Parenthetical asides aside, I've been pondering why writing gives me such a release and how I've always felt a part of me got lost somewhere in the busyness of life during time periods when I simply haven't had or haven't made the time to write. I remember declaring at 6 years old that I would be a writer when I grew up. All through my school years I was called the "book worm," and in my emotionally charged middle-school and high-school years I almost always had a notebook with me at all times so I could jot down my thoughts, a poem, or (and I cringe) a love note to some poor, unsuspecting soul. (I think the love note thing actually started in about the third grade. Poor guy.)

Not surprisingly, I chose to pursue my college degree in English, undeterred by the jokes that upon graduation I would have few job options but could be proud of my ability to conjugate the question, "Do you want fries with that?" (Another side note: I have never worked in fast food, although I spent the summer after high school making pizzas, taco salads, and fried potato wedges. Still, they weren't fries, and that was before college, and I mainly took the job because my BFF worked at that restaurant already and it gave us the opportunity to sip free Italian sodas together.) My first job out of college was as a reporter for a daily newspaper in Norman, Oklahoma. I had imagined it to be so glamorous in my mind, which of course it was not, but I was writing every day and loved that someone paid me to do it.

I moved on to copy editing and page design and through my husband's military career and a series of moves, I seemed to drift farther away from writing for a living. I got into technical editing (boring!) and somehow into graphic design (I guess because I did page layout people assumed I could do it, and I faked it pretty well for a while). My last jobs in the industry were as a publications designer and freelance proofreader. Somewhere along the way, I realized I was like the heroine of one of my favorite children's books, Anne of Green Gables: I wasn't writing what was in my heart, what I really knew to be true from my own experiences, so what little writing I did had become shallow. By that time I was ready to start my family, and my hopes of having an established, thriving freelance career so I could be home with my children had dimmed. So I got into something I said I would never do: sales. I launched a home-based network marketing company, and because I was willing to do anything to be home with my babies, I have not regretted it (at least not often, but if you know me well then you know I have never made a decision that I haven't second-guessed, such as my decision to include so many parenthetic asides on this post. What is the deal with that today?)

To be honest, writing wasn't as fun when someone else told me what to write. I wanted to be able to write as a hobby again. Life got very busy, though, and I had given up most of my hobbies by the time I had given birth to three children in just under four years and decided to start homeschooling, too. Facebook gave me an outlet when I first started using it, but that was only mildly satisfying, kind of like when I want a piece of decadent chocolate cake but settle for a few old chocolate chips from the bag hidden behind the vinegar and garlic powder in my cupboard.

So I finally had some life experience (and some large doses of humility) but just didn't have the time and energy to put into writing.

I remember when I first started hearing about blogging. I thought it was a silly fad, like skinny jeans. I probably said, "I'll never do that!" But I bought a pair of "jeggings" over a year ago, and I have my eye on some skinny jeans. I learned long ago that I should never say "never," but sometimes I forget.

I am an "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" person (except when it comes to editing atrocious sentences like that popular one!) I would have agreed with the person who thought no individual would ever need to own a personal computer, and probably with the guy who thought Walt Disney's theme park idea was a bit wacky but went to his grave lamenting his decision not to invest in it. So I got a wild hare and started a blog last year. I really had no idea why or what may become of it, but I knew I wanted to write as much I as I want to hug my children every day and sleep every night and eat food on a daily basis. I'm not breastfeeding or making baby food anymore and won't be changing diapers much longer, and I figured I could find a few minutes now and then to put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, for a purpose other than making grocery lists and to-do lists or entering Arbonne orders and my Facebook status.

As I contemplated how my life had taken me so far from my passion for writing, I realized why that had happened. Some prayer and introspection revealed the appalling truth: I had made writing my idol. Ever since I could remember, writing was such a significant part of my life and identity, and as I gained recognition and compensation for my writing, I put it on a pedestal and allowed myself to go beyond taking pride in my work. I won't go so far as to say God took it away from me, but as I followed Him, my path led me farther away from becoming the author I had thought I would become since I was a kindergartener, and I was willing to surrender anything to become the person He created me to be. By the time I started my blog, I had come to realize that I had nothing to offer, very little ability, and no reason to make pretenses. Soon after I started writing here, I signed up to teach some writing and grammar classes to other homeschooled students in our co-op group. Between the blog and my LIFE classes, I feel my writing journey has come full circle. Or relaunched. Or maybe is just beginning. Whatever it is, I love it and think I will remember 2012 as the year I began writing again, began helping others learn to love writing, and also found an outlet for playing my flute with worship music again. The creative side of myself began to reemerge at last, and I have to believe making it a priority will also make me a better wife, mom, businesswoman, and homeschool teacher - as long as I don't allow Writing Wednesday to delay our school day too much, as I am in danger of doing right now.

So, for now, good-bye. Perhaps you'll join me in writing on Wednesdays, whether or not you fancy yourself a writer. I believe we all have the capacity, desire, and even need to write something once in a while. In that respect, maybe we were all "born to write." Happy Writing Wednesday! (Or, should I say, "Happy Proofreading Thursday"?)