In 1974, I realized I was an actor in my own life; I showed up every day, however, I did not write the words, produce, set the stage, nor direct my actions. The emptiness inside me became unbearable. I had to stop the course of my life. I had to let go and trust an unknown process. I knew there was something I did not know, which would change everything in my life. I learned the journey never ends, and my life has become one grand and glorious adventure. When I started writing, there was no thought of filling 30 journals, let alone thousands of pages in the computer. Writing has been more than just therapy, more than a tool of self discovery, and more than a reflection of a crooked path. Writing has become a way to express, share, and give back some of the many blessings graciously given to me while I was busy pursuing dreams. I am still humbled and amazed with how words show up, whether forming on a page or a screen. I am a reluctant writer, yet compelled to find the words missing from my speaking. I imagine what I wished I had said, after the opportunity has passed, and writing gives me the chance to edit, refine, and make real the abstractions in my heart. I remember conversations as images drawn within, and in the attempt to share this dialogue, I let words form freely when writing. I always read aloud, to hear the sounds reverberate in the room. It is then words become real.
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