With each new post the anticipation grows. 31 scribbles from this scribe about life at the end of 30, some of which will be worth reading in the future, are almost complete. I have tried my hand at serious, at emotional, at vulnerable, at humorous, and, sometimes, at half-assed. Through all this I have discovered something that I always know, but enjoy re-connecting with:
I love writing.
Crafting, juggling words, the thesaurus open to my right and a coffee on my left, trying to keep a readers cadence, shocking myself with the occasional brilliant quip or sentence – I love the process. The blank page is like the open road – ready to take us anywhere on this journey and as far as we are willing and able to travel. This blog has become the road-trip ready, candy-apple red, vintage VW convertible that I have always wanted, cruising down an old two-lane highway on a perfect sunny day.
I have dreams of spending time in a quaint beach community, my only travels to and from the coffee shop where I peer out in contemplation and inspiration and my small cottage where I am sheltered in with the best works from the last few centuries. Journals and a typewriter and a computer take the leap with me as I dedicate full lengths of life to practicing great storytelling, reading the works of accomplished novelists, and studying the lives of my favorite creators of good reading. My purse or my pocket would continually have a small notebook, ready and waiting for a question, an answer, a topic, a moment of zeal that fills many pages; and the clicking sounds of the typebars hitting the paper and returning poised for the next beat would last deep into the night.
The end of this dream does not need a stack of work, ready for an editors harsh red pen. It doesn’t need a marketable product or dollar sign. The process is for the depths of my soul, the expansion of my mind, the happiness of my being. There, after the cottage is packed up, after the cup has been emptied for the last time, after the last page is read in the last book of my shelter, will not be an end, but a beginning and another wide open road to cruise down and compose.
There is nothing like the dreams we have, yet, somehow, I know that if I wait for this cottage/coffee/personal library dream to come to pass, I will have missed the days of reading and writing that I could have had all along. So I will not wait for the perfect moment to put words on a page, I will not wait for a totally free day to spend reading in the sun, I will not wait for a wall full of un-read books to begin living this dream. I will start writing today, in between meetings and meals. I will write whether or not I feel motivated or inspired. I will read the books that are on my shelf now, some still un-read, some with pages that deserve a second or third or fourth paging through. I will take the wide open road to a great place for a day and soak up all I can because who knows what will be available to me in the future.
This is what I have come to believe that life is all about: Living your dream in the midst of your today. Writing the songs you want to write in between projects and work. Painting the pictures you want to paint in between family and responsibilities. Finishing and fulfilling your grandest desires with the small steps that are completed today, little by little, piece by piece.