The truth is, I’m not always sure why I do the things that I do. I became a writer long before I began to figure out why I wanted and needed to write. I usually just follow my gut, go with what makes me really really happy (yes, emphasis on “really, really”)--with what feels right.
The same goes for teaching—or “coaching”, as I usually refer to what I do for people who need a little help getting started with their own writing. (I’m also not sure know why I like to call this “coaching”—maybe because coaches seem more accessible, less…I don’t know, “perfect”? I certainly don’t want to come off as someone who knows all the answers because, well, I don’t.) I became a writing coach without really knowing why it seemed important to me that I do it. All I knew was that it made me really, really happy—it just felt right.
I’ve learned to trust this feeling in me, this desire to do something. It doesn’t often make sense—at least, not in the way we’ve been taught “sense” is—but it’s the truest thing I know. To quote John Keats (and I have to say this, as a warning, that I looove quotes, as it would be pretty evident when you read through this site): “I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections and the truth of the imagination.”
I never thought I’d teach. I never imagined that I could know something well enough to teach it. (I still remember how, as know-it-all students, we’d roll our eyes at our teachers when they pretended to know what they were talking about, thinking that we actually bought into it. I never wanted to be in their shoes. Ever.)
But after listening to that “thing” in me (some would call it “inner voice”, others, “soul”, and still others, that big word—“God”) like an obedient child and the most dependable foot soldier for thirty-five years now--and NEVER ONCE REGRETTING IT—this is really the only thing I know well enough to teach, to pass on to people: That indescribable, seemingly nonsensical, child-like thing in us that says weird, impractical things like “I want to write a book” or “I want to invent something” or “I want to quit my job and travel” or “I want to design shoes/dresses/houses…” is real. More, importantly, it is trustworthy. It is more trustworthy, more constant, dependable, safe, loving, nurturing than even the best parents or the best husband or the best friend or the best, ehem, writing coach. It is this “thing”—this voice, this urge—that we should listen to and follow above all else.
If this blog could reintroduce you to that “thing” in you (because you did know this when you were a child—that’s why you did all those crazy fun, joyful things and were never self-conscious about whether you were doing it “right”), help you re-establish a connection and maybe give you some tips on how you can sustain that intimate relationship, then it would have done its job. This blog would have earned its space in…cyberspace. And I would be a really, really happy girl.
I wish my reasons were more sophisticated. But the truth is...well, the truth can be surprisingly simple.
