I’ve identified as a reader for most of my life, certainly all of my adult life. I believe one mark of a reader is the sentiment, “so many books, so little time.” There are moments when I feel overwhelmed by the volume of beauty, wisdom, humor, and story that I’ll never be able to get to in this lifetime.
I was going for a long walk on Saturday and had to stop several times to add to my list of “things to write.” I’ve been writing more prolifically over the past several weeks than I ever have, yet my list of things I want or need to write keeps getting longer. I realized then, I’ve arrived.
I am a writer.
Not because I’ve written a best seller or have a fancy white desk and a succulent.
I’m a writer because it is what I do and want to do to and plan to do for as long as I’m able. The list of things I plan to write is too long to be accomplished in this lifetime, but I continue to get up early in the morning and to sneak away when the kids are getting along so that I can write a few words more. The call to write and the consistent answer to the call are what make a writer.
Is there anything you do that you can’t get enough of? Maybe you don’t do it yet, but it’s on your heart, a constant nagging or tugging, asking you to make room for it?