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.