Friday, June 29, 2012

I am a writer.

I met someone new this week who asked me if I was a writer based on something he'd read that I'd written about myself.  I told him that I'd mostly written professional articles.

This morning, I got a care package from Loren with a pencil and lovely card inside.

Thank you, Loren.  I love it.

Beginning in the 5th grade, I dreamed about being a writer.  I loved writing essays and stories.  I wanted to write books.  Now, I just try to post every week.  Writing has been very good for me.  It's like the stories were popcorn and needed to come out.  Before I began writing regularly, the thoughts were trapped inside and wreaking havoc.  I've been told some of my stories are longer than others, but mostly I like watching people's eyes widen, sparkle and cry sometimes.   

My cousin, Josie, is a spiritual healer.  Only she says that in the Native tradition, you are not supposed to call yourself a spiritual healer.  That is, you are not supposed to say that about yourself.  But others can say it about you.  It's like how you can't be a shaman, no matter how much you wanna, unless the community agrees.

I guess I have been waiting for others to call me a writer.  The fact that you are reading this - even the one of you - is enough for me.

Writing is something I could do, quite happily, for the rest of my life.  Having more time to spend reading and writing the last three years has been a God-send and transformative.  I barely recognize myself and my life.  If you could see me right now, you'd see that I am smiling and sweaty from working out at the gym and about to soak in a bath with some Epsom salt.

It just doesn't get any better than this.  Cheers to you and finding a life, passion and relationships that are a really good fit for you.

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