“Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.”
~George Bernard Shaw
~George Bernard Shaw
I've recently been inspired by a book of bad ass women who have followed the internal nudge of spirit and who have passionately followed through on their childhood dreams. (Stay tuned, I'll be sharing this book on tomorrow's blog!) Perhaps as we connect with the wise and unbounded child within we connect at a more essential level to what really matters--the heart of the matter. The initial question to each of these 100 women, "What did you want to be when you were a child?"
Drifting back in time, I can feel my longing to be a writer. Yellow legal pads of paper felt like goldmines beneath my hands. Tracing my fingers on the paper transported me into the stories of life. At a very early age I began writing about 'life.' Not the sunshine and flowery version, but rather the plot twists of life that take our breath away and form the very foundations of our existence. The twists and turns of living became animated on these yellow lined legal pads. I adored writing at a desk, as it somehow felt masterful and cultivated. In my childhood home we had a big roll top desk in our front hall. I envisioned myself sitting there in the swivel chair writing with the spirits of Thoreau and Mary Oliver. I could feel fellow authors who had gone before me laboring over the stories of their lives, their collections strewn about, their intentions so profound. I dreamed in words. I still dream in words. I see myself living by the sea, writing about life and how it longs to accompany us on the journey of living. My writing desk faces a wall of windows, the room is trimmed in white bead board, and everywhere I look I am grateful for the views of life. I envision my writing stirring the very souls of the readers. Calling out to individuals to live the stories of their hearts. This is who I am as an adult.
The other day I bumped into a mom of a childhood friend and she asked me what I was doing professionally, and I shared that I was crafting my writing into a book. She sheepishly smiled, "That's so wonderful, I always wanted to write, but when I was deciding on a career it seemed more practical to become a nurse, work 9-5 and bring home a consistent paycheck. But, oh my, I always felt like I had a story inside me." I felt her deep longing cozying up beside her. There was a moment when she would have pursued this dream, but the external world became louder and more insistent than her internal voice. The practicality of life trumped the heart of her true desire. "I raised three children, I have a good life, but I know I still have this part of my dying to come alive."
I smiled at her. "There are so many mediums and modalities to work at your craft. How would your life be fuller if you took this first step and began writing?"
I left her with this question. I could see her heart melting into possibilities as she smiled and then glanced at her husband. Life truly isn't about finding ourselves, life is about creating ourselves as Shaw so eloquently stated. Maybe today you begin with the dream of the child inside. "What did you want to be when you were a child?" Young, old, male, female...tune in and turn it up:).
May You Sweetly Seek:)
In Gratitude,
Sarah
Drifting back in time, I can feel my longing to be a writer. Yellow legal pads of paper felt like goldmines beneath my hands. Tracing my fingers on the paper transported me into the stories of life. At a very early age I began writing about 'life.' Not the sunshine and flowery version, but rather the plot twists of life that take our breath away and form the very foundations of our existence. The twists and turns of living became animated on these yellow lined legal pads. I adored writing at a desk, as it somehow felt masterful and cultivated. In my childhood home we had a big roll top desk in our front hall. I envisioned myself sitting there in the swivel chair writing with the spirits of Thoreau and Mary Oliver. I could feel fellow authors who had gone before me laboring over the stories of their lives, their collections strewn about, their intentions so profound. I dreamed in words. I still dream in words. I see myself living by the sea, writing about life and how it longs to accompany us on the journey of living. My writing desk faces a wall of windows, the room is trimmed in white bead board, and everywhere I look I am grateful for the views of life. I envision my writing stirring the very souls of the readers. Calling out to individuals to live the stories of their hearts. This is who I am as an adult.
The other day I bumped into a mom of a childhood friend and she asked me what I was doing professionally, and I shared that I was crafting my writing into a book. She sheepishly smiled, "That's so wonderful, I always wanted to write, but when I was deciding on a career it seemed more practical to become a nurse, work 9-5 and bring home a consistent paycheck. But, oh my, I always felt like I had a story inside me." I felt her deep longing cozying up beside her. There was a moment when she would have pursued this dream, but the external world became louder and more insistent than her internal voice. The practicality of life trumped the heart of her true desire. "I raised three children, I have a good life, but I know I still have this part of my dying to come alive."
I smiled at her. "There are so many mediums and modalities to work at your craft. How would your life be fuller if you took this first step and began writing?"
I left her with this question. I could see her heart melting into possibilities as she smiled and then glanced at her husband. Life truly isn't about finding ourselves, life is about creating ourselves as Shaw so eloquently stated. Maybe today you begin with the dream of the child inside. "What did you want to be when you were a child?" Young, old, male, female...tune in and turn it up:).
May You Sweetly Seek:)
In Gratitude,
Sarah
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