I was driving in my car about a year ago, minding my own business, and was suddenly filled with this sense of "you're not writing for just yourself anymore..."
As time goes on, I have learned to trust these whispers. They speak of something to come without a clear path set before me. The story unfolds over time, and it isn't until later on that I am able to connect the dots.
I have been writing in journals off and on for almost ten years now. I have about 60 books filled with black ink; spilling over with thoughts, poems, anger, heartbreak, wisdom, prayers, reflections, even pictures and illustrations. This doesn't include all of the snippets that I've typed and saved on my computer.
I had an emergency appendectemy in 2010, and after recovering, I started to become more disciplined in my writing. I would wake up every morning, take a walk and write three pages in my journal. Many books on creativity encourage a daily practice; Julia Cameron's, The Artist's Way, calls it "morning pages." It was a life-changing, and beautiful discipline. My hope is to start that discipline again, and perhaps this blog will help me to do so.
It has always been tough for me to express myself verbally. I have a hard time thinking on my feet. I am sometimes timid about sharing my thoughts with others. Writing helps me to pull my thoughts together, and identify how I am truly feeling about something. It helps me heal. It enables me to identify patterns, and passions, disappointments and hurts. I became quiet as a child. My mom called me her "closed window." I want to start opening that window. I would like to find my voice, and I think I am being asked to share that voice as I find it.
Never did I think that it would be helpful for others to read my writing. In the past few years, I have started sharing my writing and art. I'm always shocked at how some people resonate with what I write or draw. I remember a woman who saw my art in a gallery once; she viewed each piece very carefully, and then came to me with tears in her eyes, hugged me, and told me "your art has touched me more than you will ever know," and walked away.
My friend, Julie, always tells me there are two sides to art. There's the creating it, and then there's the sharing it. The process of art is incomplete without both of those sides being fulfilled. If we just create art, and keep it to ourselves, we are denying others from experiencing it. I used to believe that if I was truly a good artist/writer, then I wouldn't have so much anxiety about sharing my work. Now I realize that the insecurity and the anxiety is just part of the deal. I am pushing through that anxiety, and through that voice that says "nah, nobody wants to hear what you have to say," and I am going to start "giving my writing."
I encourage other people to share their gifts, but then I keep mine under a bowl.
This isn't about me...it isn't about getting praise or criticism for my work, it's not about getting you to love me or agree with me, or approve of me (although I'm sure I will struggle with all of those things as I continue to share), it's about sharing what I've created and continue to create, because that's what I've been asked to do. It's an act of obedience. I've learned to trust those whispers, because I've heard them before. Sometimes I've chosen not to follow them, and those times have not been the pretty parts of my story...however, they are the parts that have brought me back to trusting.
Now, when I hear, "you're not writing for just yourself anymore," I take it seriously...
