Last Sunday, I turned 35. It was the sweetest of days with love pouring over me while I soaked it up like a sponge. For years, I’ve dreaded my birthday because I saw it as a measure of how loved, how accepted, how valued I was; and I always felt let down. But not this year. This year, I am stronger in my identity and in my truth. Hallelujah.
But as it turns out, 35 is only five years away from 40. This got me thinking about my life as it is and how I want it to look at the completion of this decade; where I want to be personally, professionally and, even, physically. I thought about creating a vision board and I still may do that. But in the meantime one thing came to mind; writing.
I’ve always said that I “love to write” and that I want to be a “writer”. Yet for many years I’ve lacked the bravery, discipline and vulnerability to pursue such a dream. I’ve even wondered if that was an idea of my childhood that is no longer really compatible with my “grownup” self.
Upon reflection though, I realize that I still gravitate towards the expression of writing on a regular basis. In the quiet of the morning, I write in my journal. I post lengthy Instagram captions to scratch the creative itch. My job as a nonprofit fundraiser involves descriptive grant applications, reports and other communications that share our story with funders. And almost without fail, I feel joy every time I practice the craft of the written word.
And so, as my gift to myself for my 35th birthday, I’m going to enter into a self-imposed writer’s workshop. I’m going to create 52 posts in 52 weeks to share here on this little blog. I’m going to take the time to explore the the art of writing and try to get a better feel for what being a writer actually means to me. This is going to be a safe space for messiness, grammar mistakes, incoherent thoughts, paragraphs dashed out in minutes. Its going to be an exercise in follow-through with the hope that instituting a discipline will lead to a deeper internal understanding.
I’m going to write about whatever is on my mind. I’m also going to read through my old journals and incorporate them into these posts with a bit of context. I’ve been writing in journals for as long as I can remember and I hope that I can gain some clarity by reading about what was on my mind 10 and 20 years ago.
I may also throw a few short stories on here. Because, why not?
52 posts in 52 weeks sounds scary. But I really want to know if writing is what I really want to do. And there is no other way to know except to try. If I like it, if I need to put myself out there, then I’ll keep doing it. In the meantime, I’m just going to show up here…on this blog…52 times…before I turn 36.