I reviewed my journal and noticed a prevailing theme: the intention of writing. I’ve written so many poems and reflections about writing. I’ve lamented leaving it to lay dormant; unacknowledged in the pages of yellowing journals. I’ve apologized to myself and God. I’ve blamed busy. I’ve blamed career.
As a front line worker during this pandemic, I’ve encouraged others to find outlet. I’ve advised people to unwrap the gift of time while mine remained wrapped and undisturbed.
Sure, I’ve dabbled. A little more even. But I hadn’t opened up and allowed myself to write for the fun of it, to share it, or to form inkwell camaraderie. I hadn’t allowed my mind to be busied by words; creatively stringing them together and loving them for what they are. Good, bad, great or terrible.
As I sit this week, quarantined, waiting on test results, all of the excuses I have made cease to be.
Once again words, I pinky promise to be your companion. I’ll take you along with the busy, with the career, and make it work.
Here’s to a change of direction. Little by little. Step by Step.