When I’m not writing, my head is filled with thoughts. Too many thoughts. Thoughts that consume me and haunt me all hours of the day. When I don’t write for several days or weeks, my brain gets muddled. I have trouble concentrating. Nothing feels right.
When I can’t take it anymore, I carve out some time—usually in the morning—and I write. I write the blog posts that have been calling my name for what seems like forever. I write outlines of books I may or may not complete. Suddenly, life is good. My brain functions at its optimal capacity.
I heard in a movie once that if you wake up in the morning, and you can’t think of anything but singing, then you should be a singer.* When I wake up in the morning, I can only think of writing. I think this makes me a writer.
You may think of something else when you wake up. You may think of baking (you should be a baker) or knitting (you should be a knitter) or painting (you should be a painter) or making furniture (you should be a carpenter).
The universe instilled some gifts in each and every one of us when we were formed. Some of these gifts give us great pleasure. When we use those gifts to make the world just a wee bit better, that’s the sweet spot. That is what we’re meant to do.
When I write, I’m often trying to make sense of the world. Trying to determine how I fit into it—what my purpose is. When I talk, I ramble and talk in circles. When I write, pieces fall into place. I realize what it means to be a citizen of planet earth.
Imagine if we all got to do what we love. Let’s work toward that society.