NOSTALGIA AND INDEPENDENCE

Falling back asleep after feeding the dogs this morning, I was overcome by a sense of calm. I don't know where the "voice" came from. "Relax," it said, "you are a writer."

I was just tired enough to believe it.

I've always spent a lot of time feeling guilty about being a "writer."  

When, as a child, I came up with stories, poems and little plays, I was warned not to be "silly." The only writing that was important was my handwriting. Sad, funny and true. All at once.

But mostly sad.

I do have exceptional handwriting, though.

In high school, I won a Governor's award for one of my poems -- it was featured in a calendar. It contrasted two moms -- the first, a poor woman in a third world country whose main concern was feeding her family. The other mother was an American worried about what her daughter was wearing.

The reaction at home? My stepmother, believing the poem was an indictment of her (it wasn't; I was thinking of a tv show) wrote her own version -- chastising ungrateful daughters. That made me put down my pen for a bit. 

No one ever hung up the calendar.

Even through college and grad school, when I actually was a "successful" writer, these early slights stung.

Thank god for the new perspectives we develop along the way. 

However, I know these early experiences make it easier for me to downplay and walk away from my writing. Even now, I'm "only" writing as a "hobby." 

In the spirit of July 4th, I might be willing to take a deep breath and consider if this morning's mysterious message wasn't a declaration of independence?

Happy Fourth of July!