When I was 11, I sketched a self portrait with the thought bubble emanating from my forehead:
Should I be a scientist?
Or a singer?
I find it fascinating that I felt inspired at that age to pursue a musical career when the extent of my singing was to burst into song alone in the woods (a la Snow White), and of course, the shower.
As for scientist, um, yeah. No idea where that one came from.
Over the years, that thought bubble has spiraled from my mind again and again:
A teacher?
A photographer?
An environmental ecologist?
A small business owner?
A mother?
A writer?
Recently I've been inspired by Marie Kondo's book The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up. The title of the book is no joke. I have systematically gone through categories of my life, from clothes, to books, to closets of storage, and more. Bags and bags, boxes and boxes: donated, gifted, discarded.
The criteria for what to keep:
Does this item spark joy?
In the process of clearing away extraneous stuff that has been piling up for years, I am rediscovering my first spark of joy, my first love:
Writing.
Funny how my first official contemplation of what I should be when I grow up was through the medium of paper and pen. Since I was a little girl I have sought solace, connection, joy, and community through the written word.
For so long now I have neglected to share my creative heart through writing.
Maybe we all have parts of our true selves that we neglect because of lack of time, money, committment, and encouragement. Today, for the kajillionth time, "write blog post" was on my To Do list. As the day wore on, I began to sense with growing dread that once again, it would be put off to some nebulous day in the future, some writing utopia.
Suddenly, I decided to honor my word to myself.
I would write a post.
In the process of writing this post my completed drafts got deleted TWICE. So this is literally the third time I'm writing this. It's taking waaaaaaaaaay longer than expected.
That said, here I am.
Here's my heart.
Should I be a scientist?
Or a singer?
I find it fascinating that I felt inspired at that age to pursue a musical career when the extent of my singing was to burst into song alone in the woods (a la Snow White), and of course, the shower.
As for scientist, um, yeah. No idea where that one came from.
Over the years, that thought bubble has spiraled from my mind again and again:
A teacher?
A photographer?
An environmental ecologist?
A small business owner?
A mother?
A writer?
Recently I've been inspired by Marie Kondo's book The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up. The title of the book is no joke. I have systematically gone through categories of my life, from clothes, to books, to closets of storage, and more. Bags and bags, boxes and boxes: donated, gifted, discarded.
The criteria for what to keep:
Does this item spark joy?
In the process of clearing away extraneous stuff that has been piling up for years, I am rediscovering my first spark of joy, my first love:
Writing.
Funny how my first official contemplation of what I should be when I grow up was through the medium of paper and pen. Since I was a little girl I have sought solace, connection, joy, and community through the written word.
For so long now I have neglected to share my creative heart through writing.
Maybe we all have parts of our true selves that we neglect because of lack of time, money, committment, and encouragement. Today, for the kajillionth time, "write blog post" was on my To Do list. As the day wore on, I began to sense with growing dread that once again, it would be put off to some nebulous day in the future, some writing utopia.
Suddenly, I decided to honor my word to myself.
I would write a post.
In the process of writing this post my completed drafts got deleted TWICE. So this is literally the third time I'm writing this. It's taking waaaaaaaaaay longer than expected.
That said, here I am.
Here's my heart.
