Well, I’d have to say the first time I started writing was when I picked up a pencil or crayon to start scribbling out letters and short words back in nursery school, age 4. After that, I have a clear memory of writing a short story for a second grade class, maybe third grade. The story was about me in a shopping cart that I could drive around wherever and whenever I wanted. At this age, I may have based this story on driving around because I had to walk to and from the elementary school that was about one mile each way every day. I walked to and from school up to the fifth grade. Anyway, I had enough time and plenty of footsteps to walk and imagine wonderful delights and freedoms in my young child brain.
I wrote essays throughout high school and sought extra English classes in my first and second year of college that contained writing. About eleven years later I took a trip to India and came home with the impulsivity to pound away at the keys on a laptop dated circa 1990s wherever I was, including a client’s reception area. I also have memories of stealing away to a vacant cubicle in one particular client’s office that had a bright red carpet and a shiny midnight blue almost black painted ceiling throughout the office. That writing connection lasted for about a year. Many years later I volunteered to begin a store newsletter full of fun and quips of merchandise for the employees to help rally the team concept. Fast forward to 2014, when I experienced a major loss after a several year period of undoings, lost dreams, profound changes and descending into a state of despair I was guided to an author and writing for healing. I began journaling everyday in the early morning hours. I’ve journaled every day for seven years.
Writing has given me back my life. I do not tell of this lightly. The habit of coming to the desk in the deep quiet of early morning hours took hold like a strongly connected line on a bow cleat holding me as I watched dreams wash away and losing any answers to my life. Anchoring into my morning writing practice became secured, stronger and stronger with the gift of willingness every day to show up at my desk no matter what. For this gift I am grateful. With each change I was encountering I thought it would be the last round of disruptions. Changes abound resulting in a stage of transformation. There is a significant difference between changes and transition vs. transformation. I was unaware of the value of the gift of willingness at the start of my practice which anchored me into an inner self groundedness as things around me and within me began to dismantle. The effects of such changes have left me only with my pen, paper and my thoughts. This is all that is left. Just like harm can be done to the physical body, but the spirit is never destroyed. The changes I have experienced have brought me to the viewing point of how I relate to the world, and again, I am left with my pen, paper and thoughts. This is where I find I am connected, just as is my connection to breathing. It has come to this simplicity, yet vital.
Do I dare say “dream”? Because I’ve witnessed so many dreams unwind and come undone right before my very eyes. So, if I answer to the “writing goal”, will the idea of a goal be held in some protected space never to be pierced, dismantled and shattered? I will risk to respond right here and now before the many unseen eyes that will peek at these words whether by choice or by accident. It is my goal to be a published writer earning a decent living in which I can easily and joyfully support myself, bringing me happiness and helping at least one person. This deep and very private reveal has only been shared with one person in my life. Until now.
Must be the full moon in Gemini.
Must be the full moon in Gemini.
Thank you @Finder