Why is always the word that often starts a question. It always precedes questions of choice such as why someone who had multiple paths before them would chose the path less traveled.
That's how I view myself: a person who had multiple paths before me, but I followed the path less traveled.
So you ask me why I chose to write?
This blog post, should you choose to follow, is a reflective piece on my topsy-turvy career path that has brought me to where I am now: the path of the writer.
The song. Everyone has that song in their heart. The song calls. No one has the same song.
For me, the song of the writer called at an early age. Speech difficulties and communication issues lead me to special tutoring. These occurred during school or in the summer months. It was summer when my teacher, Mrs. Gregory as I knew her back then, gave me my first journal. She told me to write. Anything. To anyone. Write.
My journaling took a life of its own. I talked to my diary. My journal. Jesus. My Grandma Fedeson. No matter the name, I talked to myself. I recorded my day. I explored my feelings. I shared my desires.
This first note of my calling gained strength and turned from journaling into a desire to write a book. I wrote about this shift in my post, "I'm Going On An Adventure!" Check it out if you're curious.
But for obvious reasons, I set aside my dreams and muffled the song of the writer in my heart. I chose the path of a teacher. My parents did not care for it as much, but it was a job marked on society's path. Low pay but it was a job. But my eye was towards summer, 3 months of no obligations where I could nurture my craft for writing in secret.
My acceptable path in society derailed in my final year of undergraduate school, a tale I wrote about in my Musing for Myself series on LinkedIn.
A year to regroup, reenter and study for the GRE lined me up to return for graduate school in the school of information.
After two years of education to get a Master of Science in Information, I landed a position as a Team Archivist/Research assistant for GRIP, a research group in the School of Education.
My position began as a grant and ended with the grant. I discovered the meaning of silence in the months trying to be employed in my field.
I joined Sweetwaters at Plymouth and Green for work and fulfillment of a desire to work in a coffee shop.
I've managed by both blessings and hard work. Angels on earth. Angels who remain unseen.
The song of the writer still calls.
In my times of employment, a museum assistant, a cashier, a team archivist/research assistant, and barista, I experienced the range of highs and lows, joys and hidden frustrations. But my heart never resonated.
Except once. I resonated when I wrote for the Washtenaw Voice as a contributor and then a staff writer.
I soughed opportunities and found them. First, as an author for Textbroker, then a writer for the Today Magazines for the southeastern parts of Michigan, and now an owner and creator of my business, Waggish Writer.
My heart is nearly in time with the life I want. Money throws off the groove that I'm trying to dance to.
Do I love money? No. I've seen what the constant need for money does to someone. I've seen its effects on someone dear to my heart who feels the constant need for money despite being well off.
The only reason money is a factor in my life is freedom and time. Freedom from the draining drive of covering living expenses. Time not only to tend physical health but mental and emotional health. Freedom and time are my highest priorities in my work.
I have worth as a writer. I work hard on my craft. I can and will drive onward that my words will gain me the freedom and time I crave.
Is freedom and time the end of my song?
No. The song of the writer is never done until there is no strength left to type of lift a pen to my page. Whatever excess freedom and time will be sent to make the world a better place.
Until next time, have a wonderful life. <3
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