the journey to becoming my favorite story
For so long I wrote because I had stories in me, but also because often I felt I had nothing to live for.
It is an odd thing now, I can no longer write stories, sweeping fiction or angsty tales that make me weep. I no longer dream of book tours and fame, of bestsellers and five star reviews. I cannot make myself want any of that no matter how hard I tried or enjoyed the author world.
In fact, sitting on my back porch in my new outdoor chair and watching the hazing sky fade into darkness, I realize why — I am living my own story, my own little dream.
For so long, I wrote because I had stories in me, but also because often I felt I had nothing to live for. I remember days in my bedroom typing, filling empty hours of depression and anxiety with words, living through kings and queens of worlds of my own creation.
I wrote to live through my characters, to grapple with the darkness and seek some sort of hope through their own journeys.
I wrote to survive.
Now, the words often don’t come. I write here and there, my keyboard clacking under my chipped nails. But no longer do I write to disappear, to escape loneliness. Now I am free.
Freedom is hard to describe. It is unexplained joy. It is the chains breaking. I am no longer bound by darkness. I do not need a fictional world to save me.
Instead of sitting, staring at bare walls, holding back tears of frustration and doubt as I grapple with who I am, I fill the walls with pictures, memories of years past and of yesterday. Now, instead of having hours to write, I can vegetables from my garden, my hours spent in the kitchen learning an art my family has known for ages. Instead of reading books in but days, I spend sometimes a month on one novel, slowly drifting in and out of the pages, touching briefly with characters as I spend my days going here and there, working at the coffee shop, picking up my step daughter, getting her back to her mom, and keeping the house stocked with groceries.
I cook and clean and rearrange my room for the kids that will one day arrive. I do laundry and dry and fold and do it all over again. I prepare for homeschooling and the co-op class I will be teaching. I mow the yard for my husband who has summer school, feed the dogs, and sometimes take them on walks at my parents.
On weekends, we have movie nights and game nights and eat dinner far too late. We go swimming, take weekend trips to the mountains and go out for ice cream. We take rides in the bed of the truck and on the motorcycle. Dream aloud and plan for the future. Check in on the neighbors and meet new people. Go to church and make new friends.
I am living the story I would have written for myself had I had the courage to dream this big.
It’s family drama to the core, with romance sprinkled in. It’s not what I imagined but it’s so much better.
For this pitstop called life before the Grand Adventure in heaven, it’s pretty darn good.
At first I felt odd, no longer chasing the aspiring author career I once dreamed of. But I realize I was chasing the temporary, a filler, something that wasn’t for me. Stories are in my blood. I will forever be a storyteller, perhaps I will yet again finish a book, and yet, God has slowly stretched me and turned the chapters of my life into something more.
I grasp for the eternal instead of the temporary now and realize how ever-changing our lives are. As I prepare to be a leader in my homeschool co-op that is ever growing, as I plan to teach middle schoolers as well as help teach my own daughter, as I get involved with people at church and volunteer, as I get involved with my community and friends and neighbors — I realize love this change, this new world that marriage and motherhood has opened up for me.
Dare I say — I love it more than being an author.
The fight to hold onto the identity and dreams I claimed for so long continue to exist, but the beauty I am finding here in this place, so much more tangible and real. I could continue living in the my stories, penning grand adventures and dark and brooding male characters.
Or I could live in my life so much more richer and fuller than I ever thought possible with those I treasure more than the world.
“The world isn't in your books and maps, it's out there.”
―J.R.R. Tolkien
This is really lovely. I'm so glad that you have the life you dreamed of. I used to think that kind of happiness only existed in books, but I'm living my dream life now too and it's so much better than I ever even imagined.
Hi! I came here to check on how you are doing...your post answered my thoughts perfectly. I think even as you don't 'formally write,' you are still creating. And those mundane moments in your hands now, they're all so meaningful. Have a blessed week!