Since the last post on this blog was nearly a month ago, I'm sure it's no surprise to you that I've been suffering a mild case of writer's block. This happens to everyone, and parents may be particularly susceptible. Sippy cup spills, sick baby cuddles, and the hum-drum of life with a toddler sometimes sucks the words right out of me (besides, of course, "num-nums," "say please," and "NOOOOOO").
Yesterday, a favorite blogger of mine reminded me why I do this. Micah's words helped me see through the mommy fog and the procrastination:
It matters that you’re taking time to dabble in the alchemy of the alphabet, that you’re willing to give shape to the tangled constellations inside your chest.
He's right. It matters. So I'm here again, scratching out a few small words and then a few more, stringing them together into sentences because I'm pretty sure I'm meant to.
Whenever I take a break from something that's hard for me, I start to doubt myself. When I miss a few weeks of running, I'm suddenly sure I've lost my ability to put feet in front of each other and miles behind me. When I take a break from writing, I tend to question why I do it at all.
We writers are a strange breed, a little neurotic and a little more self-conscious. Even with Micah's reminder, I wasn't sure I'd be able to see past the laundry and the dirty bathroom and the long to-do list at work to write. Then my mug told me to write, so I did. As a general rule, I don't argue with mugs.
Here's the thing. When I ask, "What will the world miss if I don't tell my story?" the answers could easily be:
Things we've all heard before.
And these answers wouldn't be wrong. But I don't write because I have revolutionary ideas or because I'm original or smart or worthy. I write because communication connects us and because you might recognize a bit of yourself in my words. I write because I've been taught, soothed, sanctified, and encouraged by the writing of others. I write because I'm meant to.
Whatever you're meant to do, don't let it grow in the corner of your mind until you're afraid to look at it. Don't believe it's insignificant. It matters. And I'm glad you do it.