The unapologetic, raw, unedited interpretation of living life. Each of us is the artist of our own life, constantly remolding, reworking, and roughing out the details and applying what we've learned to the changing canvas. There are no do-overs, no take backs...just rough cuts that release what lies inside us.

I saw the angel in stone and I carved until I set him free. - Michelangelo

Monday, July 9, 2012

In Response to Life

Trying to get back into writing has proven to be a tough challenge.  As with any art, the creativity process takes time to develop and is fueled by an inner desire to produce something not for myself but for the benefit and pleasure of others, so the blog lays empty, or as I refer to it - dormant.  When I began this blog more than a year ago, it was in response to pages of writing I felt needed a voice.  Now as a work-at-home Mom and business owner, avid runner and all around insanely busy person living the career and home life I have dreamed about, there isn't much time left to think about what I feel compelled to write...until recently.

For as long as I can remember, my life goal was to know that one person lived better because I lived.  I have known for years I want to live a legacy and a trail of lives which I impacted in some small way, that someone breathes easier going to bed at night because of what I contributed to the world.  In some ways, that seems incredibly selfish to say the word "me" or "I" and I do not mean that I need to be the sole contributor to a village of starving children or the single person responsible for any great feat of heroism.  Rather, I simply want to know I was part of something greater than me which led to a better life for someone else.

All around us everyday there are people who stand up fast to come to the aid of others.  They do not wait for someone to ask them to or respond to an organized effort is assembled.  They are the ones behind it, doing it, making it happen!

Where does that leave the writing? Well, I leave that up to my readers, my family, to those who catch the attention of the words intended to be in this space. 

Thinking back on the times when I have been called upon to write, they were not always joyous times or times when I felt the most driven to put words on paper.  Quite the opposite happened.  The requests came when I felt the least capable or least experienced to write it, but God, love, and words found their way and the writing happened and I felt the most connected to them.

In 1998, I wrote a poem for my grandfather, which I read at his funeral.
In 1999, I wrote a letter read to my parents on their 25th wedding anniversary.
In 2005, I wrote my mother's eulogy after her 22 month battle with cancer.
In 2009, on Thanksgiving, my grandfather asked me to write his eulogy. He passed away the week after Christmas.
In 2012, my father, a retired Marine and compelling public speaker asked me to write his key note address for a Memorial Day Ceremony.

Who was I to write about these lives or about the accomplishments of others?  What qualification did I have to submit my thoughts on behalf of leaders and people with far greater influence than I?
Writing in the simplest form is about the ability to draw out truth, emotion, and bring life to words.  There is an intangible joy that comes with memorializing a life in words.  The same joy experienced when writing moves people to action or tears.

I write in response to life.  And perhaps through this small way can cause others to #livebetter.

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