I’ve been thinking a lot about how everything happens for a reason. Every peak, valley, action (or reaction) in self – doubt, every moment of clarity. For easily the last 25 years of my life, I’ve felt this urge to write. If I am honest with myself, my 3rd grade teacher saw the gift. Mrs. Stroup advised my parents I was gifted and encouraged them to skip me up a grade. Shouts out to all Irwin Owl Alums. In high school, I was heavy into journalism, and after a sponsored trip to Ball State to learn more of the craft, I was certain that I wanted to be a writer. One of my favorite things to do was go from high school to high school battle rapping and destroying their best rapper(s). Shouts out to V-I-C for encouraging me to eat cats alive with my vocab.
Fast forward to: adulting.
Two children, 3 step-children, and a marriage reaching its sunset.
I was angry. Embarrassed. Broken. In those negative emotions, I found my way back to the pen. I started hanging in a collective of poets.
They helped me find my groove.
Wednesday nights solidified me as a wordsmith. Again, shouts out to V-I-C, and the Wednesday Nite Hype Crew.
I wanted to write a book. I started to write a book.
My insecurity stopped it cold. Would anyone really want to listen to what I had to say?
Days. Months. Years upon years passed.
Still no book. Just fear, along with thousands of ideas of the idea of a book in my mind.
The last few years, I’ve found myself in a different space. A lot of the old me perished in the fire of blaming others for my failures. I had to let my old way of thinking burn. What arose from the ashes of truly doing the work on myself was a woman who realized it is never too late to right the course.
A newly minted 43, I am finally being real with my heart and my passion. I am a transparent writer. This is one of God’s many gifts I’m responsible for. I’ve neglected and abused it. I’ve ran from it. I’ve been afraid of exactly what kind of power I possess. Even though it’s taken me decades to come to this moment, I understand for what feels like the first time in my life, I’ve never been late.
I am right on time.
Hov told me difficult takes a day, impossible takes a week. I’ve been saying that line since 2005. I FELT that sh*t down to my chromosomes in 2019. Every single thing I want to try, every movement I make, I am the only obstacle in the way of it happening. Even if I fudge it up royally, I tried. Anything is absolutely possible.
What’s happening in my life right now is happening as it is supposed to happen, as it was already predestined in the universe to be so. I wasn’t ready or confident in myself, even though I fronted and pressured myself into believing I was. I am now out of the fog of fraudulence. I am mindful of my light, and how my light affects the atmosphere. It is in that light I am not afraid.
May my upcoming book, 30 Days of Thankfulness have a nugget here or there along the way that blesses you, may my upcoming blogs be a beacon of hope on your darkest days, and if you ever find yourself saying that you can’t do something, I mindfully am encouraging you (and myself) to follow that up with: Well, why not?