“We’ll set a limit when we’re ready, and not a moment before.” ~ Melody Beattie, Language of Letting Go

This morning I reached a space of commitment, direction, confident willingness and understanding of myself as a writer at this point in time. I did not arrive here automatically or by wishing. While not being in control of the timing of getting here, I have been working toward this space. I’ve been writing toward it daily and diligently, most of the time seeming to grope in the dark of lack of understanding, too many opinions from others, and general distraction. But I kept on, writing and trying ideas, and this morning it is as if my mind and heart have found all the pieces and put them together, and I know who I am as a writer and where I’m going.

I see two lessons. One can only get to this point by living each moment as it comes. We can’t live in the past, nor can we live projecting into the future. Life is always in the now, living it the best we can at the present moment. I used to think, “if only I were a better writer…” “if I had more time…” “when I have less distractions…” But in the meantime I did my best at the moment I had, with the writing ability and time I had. When we use what we have, more is added.

As I write this, I am care-taking my elderly mother, as her normal caretaker has an emergency. My mother is every few minutes going back and forth to the bathroom with the aid of her rolling walker. We have bells attached to it, in order to keep track of her, and they are ringing out as she passes where I’m writing in the dining room (in order to be at her beck and call). I don’t know if her stomach is upset, or she simply forgets already having gone. The dog does a lot the same in and out the back door. An approaching storm catches my attention, as does the Bewitched theme blaring out of Mother’s television. Responsibilities swirl in the back of my mind.

But I keep on writing, and the time has arrived to know myself as a writer today and be willing to follow the value of my work.

Blessings,
CurtissAnn