I have had a couple of friends make mention of the fact that I’ve not written anything lately. They said it because they have missed my take on things. I too have been wondering why I haven’t written anything. I do enjoy the sport.

Two weeks ago it was brought to my attention that someone that is a member of the same CrossFit gym I frequent just published a book. I have been very excited to receive my copy. As a writer at heart, I celebrate and appreciate the literary accomplishments of others. Something about that, though, pricked a sensitive place in me. I had a hard time coming up with why.  I am over the moon for her.

Today I went on Amazon and bought every book (that I don’t already have) that was written and published by people that I know. It turns out I have many talented friends. Here is the list of book authors I personally know: Bobby Welch, Sherry Bach, Safari Spell, Lynn Bryson, Betty Lambert, Dawn Keister, and J. Kimberly Cartis. I think it is unusual to know that many people who have written actual books you can go to Amazon or wherever and purchase.

I think I’m jealous.

From childhood, writing has been a favorite tool of mine. I enjoy it.  I have just never felt particularly good at it. I don’t have grand plans of what exactly I want to write. That is why I blog. I simply share what is on my heart and mind. I had a conversation sometime in the last year about writing with someone. When I told her I write too she said, “You blog” in a tone that clearly communicated her feeling that blogging is a lesser art. Her comment cut to my very core. It has caused me to doubt. It validated my feeling that I have nothing valuable to say.

The truth is I am a cynic. Eeyore is my spirit animal. I think, “Why write, no one will read it anyway.” (Please, oh, please read that in your best Eeyore voice)

I was reminded today of one of the very favorite experiences of my life. We were on vacation in Belize. The beach where we were had giant mats made out of pool noodle material. The mats were about 6×10. They were tethered to the bottom of the ocean floor in only about 6 feet of water, but they were far enough from shore that you felt “out in the ocean”.  There were very few people at the beach when we were there. I was able to commandeer a mat for myself. I remained there, the governor of my own island, for about an hour and a half. I would have stayed much longer had the sun not begun to bake many layers of my very fair skin.

What struck me about my “island” experience was that I felt very free but was assured of my safety. I knew the mat wasn’t going anywhere. I could blissfully float and relax. Those moments seemed in stark contrast to what I typically feel. The weight of adulting most often squishes anything I might consider blissful. 

While on that mat in the ocean I was tethered. I realized tonight that in life I am also tethered. My tether in life is my faith in the very real and loving Creator, God. He is the very one who instilled in me the drive to write. I think often in word pictures. I was able to visualize in my mind’s eye a picture of me with my laptop floating blissfully in an ocean of words. Maybe you find that strange. To me it is comforting. I realized that all of the things that could cause me to feel carried away are nullified because I am held secure. I can relax and write and not worry about who will read it, who will disagree, or who will think I’m a lunatic. None of that matters.

I won’t promise that I will write with any more frequency, but I do feel freer to do so and let go of some of the doubts that have been holding me back.