I write a lot.
And when I say a lot - I mean that there are notes all over my house, on my phone, next to my desk, in my purse, at Craig's house - binders full of printed books, notebooks full of ideas, half written thoughts here, book titles there.
Late at night, when my house is quiet, I'm often propped up in my bed with my blue blocker glasses on, writing, editing, and creating. YouTube streams behind the 18 documents open on my computer - Chris Stapleton or Cody Jinks or a different voice singing soft and low.
I've been writing ever since I can remember.
I talk about The Brother all the time. He is easily one of my favorite people. He knew what he wanted to do from the moment he took his first breath. He drew airplane parts, read airplane books, built model airplanes, watched airplane movies. His heart beats to the click of a mechanical pencil. I've always been a little envious of his steadfastness.
He has *always* known his next step.
Early in my teaching career, I called him one afternoon. "I taught my kids all about appositives, and they get it!" I cried. It's a win I still remember. Like the good brother he is, he celebrated with me.
And when I asked him how he was doing, he responded oh-so-casually with, "I'm thinking about being an astronaut."
You know how many times I've thought about becoming an astronaut? None times.
My mom is a Dean of Finance. Every #bossbabe meme ever created is talking about her. She's a damn force.
My dad travels to exotic locations for work, and when Tuck wears his rocket scientist shirt, I whisper into his ear, "You can be one just like your papa."
My brother - the newly minted Lt. Colonel? Never became an astronaut, but now he commands all the people and does all the things. He's a rocket scientist, too. So.
And I write.
And for a very long time, I felt out of sync.
Like who are these math-y, science-y people, and what in the world am I supposed to do with all of that?
I don't do anything with *that*.
I do my own thing.
I'll never feel the heavy need to solve a math problem, but words - they swim behind my eyes and tumble onto whatever is closest. I've even used keno crayons and lip gloss to write on cocktail napkins. I have no shame.
And last night, when Her View From Home published a video that used my words - validation that I didn't even know I needed rained down all around me.
This, whispers called out to me.
This is what I am supposed to be doing.
[Note: This is not to say that the fam-bam is not supportive of my writing. They are my biggest cheerleaders and my number one fans and they sit so hard in my corner and push me forward into the big wide open every single day and will go fight club on anyone that comes at me. I would be lost without them. Just ... utterly lost.]
. About Moi .
I love, love, love flannel sheets and I am really passionate about lists on post it notes and most of the time I'm sad that no one else is as excited as I am about Diet Mountain Dew. I also adore run-on sentences.
He saw her before he saw
anything else in the room.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
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