Will She Write?

They say starting is the hardest part. All you have to do is start and your dreams will come to life. Fear is what keeps us from starting. Fear paralyzes us. I've also heard that people don't achieve their goals because they quit too soon. Too many people not finishing what they start. Lacking the ability to see things through to the end. They get distracted, bored or whatever the case may be, they don't finish. I suppose most would lump these two circumstances into a "Which one are you" category. With that said, I've deducted I'm either a rare unicorn that is afflicted by both of these flaws or we as people can't strictly be summed up that easly. I'm hoping it's the latter and there's others out there that battle this same battle as I do. You know the old misery loves company bit, I'm obviously not above it. Either way, this is my truth. I've spent equal amounts of time doing both of these disgraceful actions or lack thereof. I've refused to try. Spent countless hours convincing myself I can't rather then just shooting my shot. I've also started many things, truly I have. I've also paused, postponed, or flat out quit many too. I will add though, to my credit, a lot of those things do not rank on the love lost list. There was the "Skateboarding seems fun, I think I'll try it out." phase or the "Hiking is all the rage, I think I'll give it a go" phase. Ending in the realization that I am indeed way too clumsy and injury prone to pursue such dangerous hobbies, nor did I enjoy the bruises I acquired from my short-lived attempt. I think it is perfectly rational and wise to accept that certain things are just not for you.
Alas though, there are certain things that do land on that love lost list. These things are the topic at hand. These are the type of dreams that no matter how long you've been dreaming about it, no matter how many times you postponed it, it stays with you. There in the back of your mind. There in your heart of hearts. For some reason the desire to achieve this dream or goal is relentless and persistent. That dream for me is writing. I can vividly remember I first started writing at the age of 13 after my Aunt Tiny died. She was my Great Aunt, my Grandma's sister. She was my favorite person, my first soulmate. She was, well, just everything that is great and right in the world. She died from lung cancer in July 1997, 21 days before my 13th birthday. Through her death I learned I'm an internal griever. I fancy myself stoic. Mostly, because it sounds better than I'm a scaredy cat who can't verbalize a single emotion when it matters. Well that and my Grandpa was the epitome of stoic and he was a certified gentle but fearless badass. So, I obviously wanted to be just like him. I started with poems. I wrote to express the grief I was feeling after Aunt Tiny's death. I struggled with speaking about it. I struggled with the things I wished I would of gotten to tell her. The time I felt we'd been jipped out of. The fear that was created from her passing. I stuggled. I come from a loud and expressive family. One in which it can be hard to get a word in edgewise. One which I love whole heartedly but can be overwhelming at times too. I too can be loud and expressive when it comes to the positive joyful things in life. The scary, sad, and vulnerable things though? I just couldn't. So, I wrote. Writing poems then evolved into writing just for the sake of writing. I guess you could say like a journal or diary approach. Though I never actually owned either and usually disposed of my writings rather quickly. I was a blatant tom boy growing up in the 90's. A diary? Umm, no. The self-proclaimed badass in me could not, would not partake in such a girly act. There will be no entries about the cute boy in class or how Shelly and Sally were leaving me out at lunchtime. Such an image to protect. Looking back, I realize there is nothing wrong with a young girl or boy, or shoot, adult for that matter, to do so. And actually, Yes! Do so. Write it all down. It really is an awesome experience to have those words and thoughts to reflect on. To see how much you've grown. To recall all you've been through. From the mundane, stereotypical events to the monumental, life changing ones. I now wish I would have kept mine from those early years. Hindsight. Truthfully though I didn't really write about things like that. It was more about family. Deaths, struggles, future hopes and dreams, just life and what and where we were. What and where we'd be. The only person I ever really shared my writing with there in the beginning was my Grandma. Who better right? She was always going to be kind, encouraging and supportive of me. No chance for honest feedback and critiquing. I was scared for people to see. Scared to tell my story. To share my thoughts and feelings. Heck, I'm still scared if we want to get right down to it. Writing has been a great friend to me. At times, my only friend. I've chalked it up to self-care. You know a therapy of sorts. That is strictly there and used to keep me sane and release the emotions I have such a hard time just saying. Something that is just for me. It has no real use or prospect of relevance. Here's the thing though. Writing is definitely self-care, therapy and used to keep my sanity intact. But it doesn't have to be of no "real" use and most certainly can be of relevance. It really can be a career, a calling, a purpose. I've just always been too scared to admit that. If I admit that, then I'd have to admit that I want it to be all of those things. If I admit I want it to be, then I have to start asking myself why I've never tried to make it be. Oof, that hits hard. Accountability. It's such a pain in my ass. I'm kidding, well, kind of.
You might be asking "What is she so afraid of?" Well, take a seat. I've got quite the list for you. Let me count the ways. We have the trusty go to excuse. I'm a high school drop-out. I don't have the intelligence nor the education to be successful. I don't know the first thing about proper grammar, poetry styles, or outlining a book. This excuse has been a long-time crutch. Such an easy out. I try to battle back on this one. I've kicked this excuse's butt so many times to only come back to it in the end. I've spouted so many negative and stifling remarks to myself. It's actually quite impressive. I couldn't possibly write anything others could find value in. What could I create and give to the world that would be of use? Noone wants to hear from a person like me. I just don't have the time to dedicate to it. I am full time working wife and mother of two. I need to focus on putting food on the table and taking care of my family. It's just a hobby and there is no way to make a living out of it. I don't have a special story. My life is just like millions of others out there. I'm just a Laymen. Writers need to be more elegant and diverse with their vocabulary. I don't use 5-dollar words. It's a silly dream. It's just not in the cards for me. I'm sure I could go on and on with all the reasons why I shouldn't even try. Reasons why it just won't work out. I've been carrying these reasons for years. As heavy as they are it's time to drop them. To lose them once and for all. It's time. If not now, when? That's it. 2021 is going to be the year of writing.
Baby steps. I'm pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I've started sharing my writing. I've joined a few websites for poetry. I dug out what small amount I've actually saved over the years and retyped and shared them. I've wrote a few new pieces. I've found there's moments when there is so much in my brain that I can't keep up with getting it out and down on paper. I've also found, somedays there's just nothing there. Seriously. Like nothing. The silence is frustrating and terrifying at the same time. You know what happens in the silence? All those reasons start surfacing. Man, can they be loud. Hitting the mute button though. Keep moving forward. I've jotted down some personal challenges to help keep me focused. I'm giving myself a year. A year to write as much as I can. Random poems, songs and lyrics, give a short story a try, start a blog, outline and put together my first manuscript. I want to write a book. I haven't quite decided exactly what kind of book, but a book. I have a few ideas. A couple even feel almost right. I'm sure these ideas with evolve and change overtime. Truthfully, I'm excited for them to. I'm hoping this year adventure will lead me in the right direction because a year is not the deadline. It's not the end. I want it to be the jumping off point. The year that led to more. It could all be for nothing, sure there's a strong chance that will be the case. And that's okay. I've finally realized that the end result is not the point. It's the action that matters. It's the action that feels needed. For so many years I've carried this feeling. The feeling of these stories inside me just dying to be told. They are there. Dreaming of helping another. Not for clout, not for fame. For the simple act of sharing. To reach someone, somewhere right when they need it the most. That is the purpose I want to possess. That is the favor I want to return. So here I go. Starting. Continuing. Whatever you want to call it. Here I go.

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