What are the odds?

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I remember writing poetry from elementary school through college, and in my high school yearbook, my “dream profession” is a two-fer: psychologist and writer. I’m not a paid psychologist, but I do over-analyze myself on a daily basis. That counts, right?

Sunday night I was feeling a particularly painful longing — a yearning — for a profession other than the one that fills my workdays. It’s not a knock on my employer, because I love my job dearly. It’s just a statement of truth, a statement of fact. I want to be a writer. Only a writer.

I’ll always be a daughter, sister, friend, cousin, niece, granddaughter and the like, but I’m talking pure profession here. It’s what I want to put in the “occupation” field when I fill out surveys, or when someone on an airplane makes small talk and asks what I do for a living.

I write.

In reality, I do write for a “living.” I feed off its energy, and it keeps me doing day after day. I write, therefore I live. So that’s something, I do believe.

I set my alarm to wake up ridiculously early yesterday morning so I didn’t have to rush before an early morning client conference call. I found myself scrolling through Facebook from the cozy comfort of my bed for a few minutes when I noticed an author’s connection to a writers’ page that I hadn’t yet seen before.

I forgot about that page until I looked at Facebook during my lunch break when I came across it again.

Everything I was reading was tied to those feelings I had on Sunday evening.

Everything my eyes passed over was something that inspired a nod of the head, a pensive exhale or a quick copy and paste so that I could save the quote forever.

I believe that everything we see, hear and are exposed to on any level is something that we’re intended to encounter. We might choose to do nothing with it, or we can do something. How “something” is defined is unique to each of us, but I think of life as a very action-oriented existence. If we aren’t doing anything with what comes into our lives, what are we doing here? What are we waiting for?

Maybe some will become activists. Others might run for office. Then there are those of us who gravitate toward the written word, either by keyboard, pen, pencil or typewriter. It’s as noble a field as anything else, though some may argue otherwise. I choose to write because I take comfort in reading something that resonates with me. And if I can write something that resonates with others, that’s powerful. It may only be with one other person, but two people can be a force.

Today I am thankful for the confirmation and inspiration gleaned from stumbling across the random writers’ page on Facebook, and for all of its quotes and status updates being ones that spoke directly to my heart, my passion and my soul. I didn’t think I’d get that inspiration when I was down on myself Sunday night, but I did. What are the odds of that? It may not be an overnight career change, but I know that it’s one I’m dedicated to now more than ever.

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