It's been a long time coming.
I've been writing my entire adult life and yet, it's never been the centerpiece of my life. Instead, having gotten married at twenty-three and giving birth to my first child at twenty-four and then having my boys ten years apart, kept me in the parenting realm for thirty years, pushing my writing self to the back seat. Sure, I wrote, and even got a few things published, but I also did LOTS of other things along the way. In addition to the usual parenting and household stuff, I also finished my undergraduate degree, founded a couple of successful writing organizations, became a licensed massage therapist and had a successful massage business for seven years, taught motivational workshops and college level courses, worked in an ad agency, became a marketing consultant and business/life coach and ran a consulting business with my husband (now my ex). How in the world did I have ANY time to write? Is it any wonder that the first thing I wanted to do when my son became adults was write as much as possible?
Traveling nomadically, as I have, with few distractions and worldly commitments has allowed my soul to return to its pre-married, pre-children state and what's emerged is that my passion for writing, instead of shriveling up and blowing away like dust, has grown robust and strong. This has revealed a core inner truth: writing feeds my soul. It is why I am here. It is my purpose. It is my authentic calling.
I have come full circle.
The movement over the past eighteen months has freed me up to be REAL, to be ME, to stand in my TRUTH--fully, nakedly, without excuses or regrets or blame or shame. I have retrieved the part of me that has patiently waited until I had enough space to accommodate the breadth of the gift I've been given so that I could express it fully, without compromise or corner-cutting.
It has bloomed, and through it's blooming, I've experienced tremendous clarity and healing on a cellular level. I've been doing all of these beautiful, wonderful things, and yet my heart has been aching to have hours of solitude necessary to really listen and to align fully with my Muse. What's opened up is a unending fountain of ideas and stories and projects that have been held in a sacred space inside me until they could safely appear without rejection or interruption.
At the start of this wonderful journey, I started yet another variation of a business, hoping it would blossom into a means for support and sustenance. What has happened instead is that the part of me that blossomed has NOT been the coach or teacher or online presence, but rather the quiet, solitary, very private writer. The two are quite opposite, and the quiet one is really more me. In spite of my love for the magical, transformative power of groups, which I do hope to return to one day, my passion for writing is overriding my desire to do anything else. The flow was simply held back for too many years and now there's no stopping it.
What does that ultimately mean? I'm not exactly sure yet. I only know that I'm ecstatic over the way everything is evolving. In the coming months, I'll be transitioning my current business into a brand new collaborative project so that the pressure is off of ME as a brand and persona, and I can focus more on being part of something that's bigger than me. Yay!
For now, I'm just happy to be writing.
It feels right. My soul is happy. My Muse is happy. I'm at peace. I've gathered up those fragments and pieces of myself dropped and lost along the way, and now I feel more whole and complete.
The nomadic choice was a radical way to get here, but I wouldn't trade the experiences I've had along the way. They've pruned and shaped my character, softening my edges and opening my heart.
I look forward to what's next. In the meantime, I'll be bringing words to page, capturing the flow of stories wanting to be born.