There was once a time I planned to go into journalism. Because I
love to write. And I thought choosing a field that would pay me to do something I loved anyway would be a good thing. But then I remembered I love to write about what I
want to write about. Not what "they" tell me to write about. So I changed my mind. Because I can honestly say term papers were not loads of fun for me :).
But I love to write. And I'm grateful I have the ability
to write.
Truthfully, I've always aspired to be an author. To be published. To make my mark on the world in some small way through writing. I've come to realize I'm really not
that talented a writer -- and I really don't have anything
that interesting to say. So it'll probably never happen. But the dream still lives on inside me, nonetheless.
The other thing is that I
love the release writing offers me. I can sit down with paper and pen (or fingers and keyboard) and allow my thoughts to flow onto paper.
Memories, hopes,
dreams,
opinions. Whatever I want to write in that moment. And I love it.
I always have.
And I suppose those things describe one aspect of the ability to write. But there's another, more basic one, I think. Simply the literal ability
to write. The fact that I was blessed to go to school and learn how to make marks that
mean something in this world. That I can communicate through the written word, not just the verbal one.
Until about 3 or 4 years ago, it never really occurred to me that there are people on this earth who cannot write. (I'm not talking about little kids, either.) I think that's one of the dangers -- for me, at least -- of my life of ease and plenty: I become blind to the fact that others are not so fortunate. Writing is such a basic thing, and we are so technologically evolved now. How could someone
not know how to write? Well, 3 or 4 years ago, I was permitted to be part of a humbling experience. I was working at a public library and a young boy wanted to get a library card. His parent or guardian had to sign with him to do that. This young boy actually filled out the whole thing and then called his mother over to sign it. There was a large discussion about the need for her to sign the card (this conversation was done in Spanish, as that was their native language). She was hesitant. And I think the boy was even a little embarrassed. His mother eventually agreed, because her son wanted the card so badly. And she stood there and slowly, methodically, and painstakingly printed her name. She could not sign it. And some of her letters weren't correct. In fact, her son was trying to help her remember how to make some of the letters. But she pushed on and did it.
And my perception was changed that day. I realized how blessed I am that I have learned to print. And then write in cursive. And then type on a computer. I realized that not everyone has been so fortunate. And I respected that woman for her efforts. For her courage to try. For her decision to learn. The young boy told me he and his siblings were teaching her how to write. And though he may have been slightly embarrassed that day, I know that what they were trying to teach her was an act of love.
So I am grateful for my ability to write. Both for the fact that I can form letters and make them into words with ease. And for the fact that I can allow my thoughts to leave my head and be recorded somewhere. The latter is why I blog -- practically incessantly. I may have a blog addiction ;). But it's just a way for me to share my thoughts -- however unimportant they may be ;).
What are you grateful for today?
