Declaring yourself a writer is on par with taking the plunge and giving your heart away to a lover you have long wanted. Both delight and intrigue but they also terrify and pose unquantifiable risks, which frightens even the bravest of souls. Giving your heart in love is as difficult as tearing a page from your journal and sharing it with the world. Both offer the excitement of the unknown, as well as self-discovery and concrete proof of a secret society you’ve long suspected existed but hadn’t a clue what the benefits of belonging were nor why only a select few were granted access. It has perplexed and weighed heavy on your heart. You too have always wanted to belong and have stressed endlessly over the requirements to become a member. Wondering if you had what was necessary for admittance was the cause of sleepless nights, long walks with no destination, soul searching, and trips to the library.
For as long as you can remember you’ve struggled to explain a yearning to do something, but were at a loss to explain what it was you believed was there inside of you. You’ve wondered if it just got buried inside of memory you couldn’t access. Short of hypnosis to tap into the underbelly of your consciousness, you resigned yourself to hoping for a three a.m. epiphany.
In a whoosh, the cloud of déjà vu hovering inches out of reach bursts. Suddenly you know what you have always known but couldn’t quite put a finger on. In an unexpected turn of fate, the invitation drops in your lap. Of course, the timing is all wrong. You’re too busy, life is overly complicated, and the truth of the matter is, time is not at your disposal. The possibility left you breathless and torn as you contemplated the decision of a lifetime on the threshold of serendipity. How can you refuse the calling? You want it bad. You’re wild with desire, but the passion you’ve always longed to know demands all of you.
The voice in your head asks, “can you give everything to something promising nothing in return when in the past you’ve given less and received assurances?”
You’re afraid with good cause. The only hesitation is saying the words, as it is with love when it arrives and demands your heart, you hesitate. You waver knowing the outcome can go either way. The desire to write is nothing you can describe or touch. All you know is that it beckons you to come along on a journey with no promises of triumph. It coos in your ear, imploring you to take the leap of faith. It’s tantalizing but elusive and equally as mysterious as love.
You want a promise it will be worth the effort. You make one final plea to the universe, but when none comes (and you knew nothing would, because anything worth having requires surrender and reckless abandoned, maybe an ounce or two of courage) you take the final step across serendipity to the other side. You don’t even look back.