How about a real-life fairy tale on this rainy Saturday?
Once upon a time there was a young woman who discovered a long lost secret about herself—she loved to write. Not only did she love to write, but she was really very good at it. People would tell her how her words spoke to them, and how she really should write more often.
One day, she found herself in a place where she loved it so much, that she gave up her entire career to focus on writing. She knew she could make a difference in the world with her words-and now was the time.
And then she got pregnant.
And she had terrible morning sickness for 42 weeks. Writing was hard, but she made time here and there to at least try.
She found a new creative stride after the baby was born, but then she got pregnant again.
And had a miscarriage.
And got pregnant, again with terrible morning sickness for 42 weeks. This time while also caring for a toddler.
She had her second baby.
And then—just as she found her stride as a stay-at-home mama of two, her partner got a job offer and they moved across the country.
She hated it there. Their apartment was falling apart, and the city felt too busy. There was no room for creativity here. So, in an attempt to find a place they could call home, without needing to find a new job, they moved again.
And a few months later, they moved again.
No matter how hard she tried to fall in love with this new home, she still hated it. She felt like she was dying inside. It felt like her creativity was dead. She longed to be someplace else.
So - they moved once again. And this time, for the first time in a very long time, she felt at home. At peace. Full of hope. And even a little joy.
Two years after finding this new home that brings life and love and peace, she found her stride. Her creative spark ignited once again and felt ready to be set aflame.
And then the world turned upside down.
You’ve probably guessed it by now, but I was that young woman. Had you asked me ten years ago where I’d be today, I would never tell you I’d be at home full time, homeschooling my two children, in a north shore suburb of Boston, Massachusetts. I had a much different plan. A plan to be writing full time. A plan to be widely published, in blogs, in magazines, in books. A plan to have connections near and far.
But I, like so many other parents once their babies arrive, put my own dreams on hold while I figured out what I wanted life to look like. I did it willingly—not begrudgingly. I always knew the time wasn’t right. There were too many things that made it too hard to say yes—and too easy to say no—and my heart just wasn’t completely in making those dreams a reality.
2020 was supposed to be my year. I intentionally chose the word Story as my guiding light for the year. I started January off with a bang, and then the world started getting a little too crazy. By the time mid-February rolled around, Covid was a real threat in our community, and life began to be about survival more than anything else. I pushed my Story right to the back burner as I dug in to caring for my family. I put all my creative energy into making the small things extra special in this weird world we now found ourselves living in. Now that I look back on 2020, I see that Story did permeate through our family life but in a very different way than I intended.
I’m a lover of New Year’s Day. I love a clean slate. I love a chance to vision and dream and look forward with intention. But 2021 hit me by surprise. Perhaps it was because January 1, 2021 didn’t feel much different than December 31, 2021. The political climate was still divisive—and even downright scary. The virus numbers are worse than ever before, and the need to stay close to home is more prevalent now than it ever was in 2020. Although there’s some hope in the distance, it doesn’t look like 2021 will be the beacon of light that we’re all longing for. So I let the start of 2021 pass me by. It took me a good two weeks of living into the year before I became ready to set an intention for the year. And now here I am - finding myself in a place where I *think* I’m ready to do more than just think about being creative once again.
This week, I took a big deep breath and took a plunge into the deep, sometimes dark, sometimes frigidly cold water of creativity. I inhaled, I exhaled, I inhaled, and I just went for it. This week I made a commitment to myself, to my family, and to my dreams - 2021 will be my year.
2021 will be the year I breathe life back into the dream that’s been set aside for far too long. I hope you’ll come along with me and maybe even breathe some new life into dreams of your own.
Photo by Eddie Kopp on Unsplash.