I’ve had at least twenty ideas for new blog posts over the past several months. But I’ve not been able to write them. Sometimes it’s difficult to form words around what my heart really wants to say. To go to the levels it takes to process thoughts enough to put them into sentences – much less sentences people can read.
But, I love being a writer. And I’m learning as time goes on, my place in this world is to be a writer. I don’t take the job lightly.
As a writer, I talk about the world as I see it. It helps me contribute and give back. It makes me process. And in that processing, it validates others.
Writing helps me cope with the loss of my friends. There’s been a lot lately. It helps me say farewell and leave a lasting tribute to them. It helps me remember the great things about them. When I can write about losing a friend, somehow the writing seals in the memories. Recently I said goodbye to my friend Belle. She was a writer, too.
Writing also helps me celebrate. I write a lot for work. I penned the celebration of the president recognizing Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month – something we didn’t expect this year. I wrote about my 14th “Survivor-versary.” I like to write about good things too. Life’s too short to stay focused on the negative.
So today, I write. Why today, I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s because my strength is gone after a long week of traveling and I lack the energy to do much more then string words together for a blog. Maybe it’s because a well of emotions sits heavy on my heart as close friends continue to battle disease and hug their loved ones for what they fear will be one last time. And maybe it’s because over the past several weeks as I’ve sought after my purpose and role God would have me play in this big journey – this big problem – called cancer, I keep hearing one constant word: write.