Mom Wants To Be A Writer!?

 This morning my kids were in various states of getting ready: eating, putting on socks, packing up masks, and lunches.  As my teenage daughter walked by I realized she was wearing 2 necklaces I hadn't seen before.  Chunky silver chains one with a lock and the other with a key.  

"Cool," I said, "those necklaces remind me of a story in Glennon Doyle's book Untamed about a woman who endures a painful yoga class feeling nauseated, almost passing out and writhing all because she was told by the instructor at the beginning that no matter what she had to stay on her mat the whole time." 

My kids, not great friends of suffering or even tolerating mild inconveniences, were outraged and confused that anyone would stick around for that kind of pain and discomfort just because someone had said they should.  

I went on to explain that the woman realized at the end of the class, after an hour of suffering and almost passing out, that it was completely ridiculous that she stayed the whole time because the doors to the studio weren't even locked.

That line "these doors aren't even locked" has stuck with me since I read it and repeats itself in my mind every time I feel that ugly friend doubt crawl up next to me and it seemed a decent lesson to share with my 3 young charges.  Maybe it would save them some later suffering that they aren't yet cut out for.  I went on to say that I'm getting the line tattooed on my arm as a reminder to do all the things the way you want and not to worry about disappointing people or going against their "right way" of living out this life.  A reminder not to stay and suffer when you need to go.

They all thought that was pretty rad and so I kept talking and said "Ya it's just like how nothing in my life says that I can or should be a writer but I still want to be a writer anyway" and they all stopped.  Like stopped in the middle of their morning hustling and bustling and my teenage daughter looked me dead in the eye and said "I didn't know you wanted to be a writer.  Henry did you know mom wanted to be a writer?" to which Henry both shocked and mildly impressed replied "No I had no idea, how would I know that?" and so on as I stood there feeling a bit invisible but also alarmed that I haven't said it out loud enough or to them that the deepest call I hear when I'm up in the night asking myself "Why am I here?" the answer is always "Write the book." which makes less than no sense since I have spent my whole life with this call inside me and have not yet managed to figure out what the book is about or even if I can write more than a blog post that 8 people read but there you have it.  

That door isn't even locked and I'm walking through it.  Now with 3 very powerful sets of discerning eyes upon me, I am setting out to figure out what the blasted book is supposed to be and then everyday head in that direction and hope that the unlocked door turns into the answer to this call.