C'mon Inner Peace… I Don't Have All Damn Day
My brain thinks things, and I write them down. What do other people do?
There is no formal writing involved, it just happens.
Since I was small, everyone has always told me that I was a good writer. It just never made sense to me.
I envision Mark Twain, or that guy who lived in Key West with all the cats? …Hemingway, yeah, THEY were writers.
I can’t read fiction, let alone write it.
For me, I just think things that need to be released. It builds and builds to the point I am going to explode if I don’t let my brain say what it needs to say. KA-BOOM, it goes on paper like a gigantic orgasm then all of a sudden I can relax and focus on my daily life again.
It’s been this way… forever. Does that make me a writer? I don’t think so, slightly “off” maybe?
After starting college (again), I took my first English comp class. The teacher was handing back our first graded short stories; she paused when she got to me, and said with a smile “You my dear… are a writer.”
Baffled, I thought… “Geez, I scribbled that down before class; college is a piece of cake”… until I saw all of her corrections and a grade of a low C.
For the first time in my life, I was offended that she didn’t simply adore my obviously hastily written gibberish.
I sat with her after class, as she explained that she knew my soul was a writer but I have never been trained. She was correct, but I was pissed off nonetheless.
I complained that it was my own creative right to write things the WAY I wanted to write them! I did not need to waste time on grammar, punctuation and stupid dangling participles, “I am a writer.”
That was the first time I knew. I may not be the best writer, but… I am a writer.
As time went by in college, I took a few more writing classes. My favorite was a creative writing class where I could be free to curse, offend and be completely wild in whatever it was that was screaming to get out of my head. I could be funny or Jersey obnoxious… and it just didn’t matter.
I was becoming more and more comfortable with having other people actually read my writing, although I admit it is still terrifying each and every time I push “publish.”
I sent my stories to a few friends to read and see what they thought. Should I attempt to see what can happen by taking the first few baby steps? Or, should I hide my head in a hole and not start this blog?
One very special email I received was from a beautiful friend named Lantie. You may have seen her on Project Runway last season?
Since I have known her, she has been an incredible clothes designer; spending hours tucked away in her studio designing amazing outfits and envisioning what her shop in SOHO will look like.
My wonderful friend wrote some of the most inspiring words that I have yet to hear.
In her email she said:
“As far as putting yourself out there, don’t let too much time go by living in fear or fear of being judged. Just remember, that at times you will fall flat on your face, but only you can decide if you have the balls to get up.”
She continued, “Being a true artist means exposing yourself constantly, an artist shares a part of who they are every day or they will wither away into something worse than plain. Who are you afraid of? Those who do not try are always the worst critics. I can tell you first hand those haters will fade away, but you will always hear your own voice calling you a loser if you stop trying. If you never give up, then you never truly fail.”
Her email brought tears to eyes, an artist? A writer?
She sent me a follow up email saying “It feels good doesn’t it?”
It feels So. Damn. Good.
You see, I was always the girl in the background of a large circle of creative and artistic people. All of my friends were doing something astounding and running towards their dreams. I went to their dance recitals, fashion shows, and Broadway gigs cheering them on whole-heartedly.
Never once did it occur to me that I was one of them and it was time to share my passion for writing.
Doing what you love, time seems to fly by; it is not time consuming drudgery. Its meditation time; it’s me time; it’s my soul expressing itself. Like a child at play, my imagination has been sparked, inspiration is flowing and I look forward to sitting down at this computer to create.
This… I have been told, is what we should all be searching for. That one thing that makes time fly; the thing that brings out excitement and creativity in your soul. It’s listening to that small voice inside that says “this just feels right”.
When we put more time into doing what we love, we can continue to bring what we love closer.
Writing has freed me.
It is as if I have been asleep for so many years, and all of a sudden I am WIDE awake.
We should ALL be spending more time on that one thing that makes time fly by. It awakens your spiritl, inspires you to keep moving forward and propels you to find like-minded people who get it as well.
Namaste’ Follow that one thing that makes time fly.
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Check out my friend and sponsor, Lantie Foster at FreelanceFashionDesigner.NYC
Follow our story in the links below:
Read about when I met “My Indian Boyfriend “—>HERE
My Big Fat Sikh Wedding: Prelude —> HERE
My Big Fat Sikh Wedding: Showtime —> HERE
My Big Fat Sikh Wedding: Indian Astrology —> HERE
My Big Fat Sikh Wedding: The Dress —> HERE
Surviving Long Distance Love—> HERE
Open Letter to my Husband—> HERE
Our Story, Retold —> HERE
Culture Shock: What to Expect?-–> HERE
Our Honeymoon: Rishikesh India—> HERE
K1 Fiance Visa: The Process—> HERE
K1 Fiance Visa: The Inteview —> HERE
Cr1 Spousal Visa: The Timeline —> HERE
Cr1 Spousal Visa: Interview Questions —>HERE
A Journey to: New Delhi—> HERE
A Journey to: Jaipur India —> HERE
A Journey to: Dubai UAE —> HERE
Our First Diwali—> HERE
Giving Thanks, Shukryia —> HERE
Being Sikh in America—> HERE
The Indian Grocery: Natural Products—> HERE
A Path to Happiness—> HERE
Buddhaful Britt: Most Interesting Travel Blogger —> HERE
Buddhaful Advise: As We Think, So We Become —> HERE
Buddhaful Advise: Inner Peace —> HERE
Buddhaful Advise: Everyday Stress —> HERE
Inspiration is where you find it.
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