Christmas Day
When I toured Gordon College two years ago, I sat in a creative writing class while they were taking a quiz. The teacher was youngish and rather enthusiastic, and I enjoyed his invitation to participate in the quiz and following discussion despite the fact I had never read the assigned book. Anne Lamotts, "Bird by Bird", I believe it was. I raised my hand and answered the first question correctly. Writing is a way of validating your existence in a way like the light traveling from a distant star continues it's path long after the star has vanished from existence. Writing on paper proves that you exist, it outlasts you but contains part of you within it, carrying your voice beyond the limits of your own life.
I really don't know what will happen to me, my talents are few and my resources are very limited, but I have something that is not a choice. I have an obligation to myself to become something not simply adequate or acceptably good, but great.
Make doing what you have to do, what you love.
And the world will show you new roads to travel.
I really don't know what will happen to me, my talents are few and my resources are very limited, but I have something that is not a choice. I have an obligation to myself to become something not simply adequate or acceptably good, but great.
Make doing what you have to do, what you love.
And the world will show you new roads to travel.