The Gift of Writing
Four months ago I had came to the conclusion that my ability to put life into written words was a gift. It was a conclusion reached based on a vision, an experience that presented itself to me in a time when silence was all that governed my day. I decided that I was going to write. Not just because I wanted to, not to make a profit, but because I was given a gift, a powerful gift, and I was wasting it.
Today, back in the claws of everyday working life, I was challenged by a troublesome flood of uneasiness. It left me feeling very anxious and since I was alone, I decided to try and capture the events in writing, to enable me at least a little sense of being in control. Later, I showed it to a friend, looking to explain what had occurred. ‘You described it really well’, he said after, to which I responded ‘well, considering the circumstances I was in, I didn’t do too bad I guess’.
It wasn’t the circumstances that diminished the quality of my writing.
As I wake up in the middle of the night with a replay of that dialogue in my head, I realise that I’ve failed it. I have failed my gift, failed to honor it. And I realise that it wasn’t just this time. I have forgotten the conclusion I reached five months ago.
It’s almost 4 am as I type these lines. The world around me is silent. Perfect time to remember, to ask for forgiveness, and to do what I was born to do.