There’s a churning in my chest, not the quick paced stirring up of whipped cream, but close. I’m a writer. The idea is newly owned and is true as the strong breeze billowing my shirt and crashing it against my body like waves.
Still, I wish I could speak as naturally and as long-windedly as the reporter whose article I just read. She wove a story from the night the police knocked on the door because her son had overdosed, to her, her husband, and their messy-haired daughter driving and entering the hospital to see his pale body. She intertwined her past with addiction, the over prescribing by doctors, the political climate approach, the stereotypes of addicts, all while challenging and bringing compassion to it in one fell swoop.
As I saw her paragraphs soar into the outfield, as a fan and a player myself, the grand slam sent my mouth agape. Then, looking inward, doubt crept in. Yes, I’m a writer, but not like her.
Stepping into my writer shoes, I’m in love and want to wear them with everything. But damn, I’m still in the minor leagues, without endorsements, and still paying my way.
“How to get back to security when my confidence dips?” I ask myself for an hour’s break in my day.
In the small town of Roberta, on the porch I’m filled with hope. There’s something brewing, and however counterintuitive it is to lean back when pulled up when skiing, that’s exactly what I need to do.
Don’t resist it, or disparage it, or fear it, or fight it. Let it come, invite it in, with a handshake and a “Yes, ma’am.” Seat it down at the table with a glass of Chablis, and save the last dance for it, no matter what you do.
“How to move from insecure to secure in my writing?” I repeat. “Please answer me now.”
I’m caught off guard; there’s a “Well,” then a stop. I haven’t a clue.
“You’re more resourceful than you realize,” I reflexively shut down, like a stick-poked snail, inside my shell.
Let’s be clear, it’s here, I abuse and do damage. Still, inch by inch, I coax myself out into the light. And then I feel the heat. The heat between me and you.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 