Last night Anya helped me write a super awesome version of a Shel Silverstein poem. You can read it here.
As I was explaining iambic pentameter to Anya (we just tried to match syllables and rhyming words), I could see a teeny, tiny little spark in her otherwise dirt-brown eyes. She smiled. “I’ll make my own poems! I’ll put them on my blog!”
Suddenly, I remembered my first writing experiences. I’d written poems day in and day out. I forgot about that! I wanted to be a poet! I actually had a poem published in a book when I was 8 or 9, I think. I also wrote short stories and illustrated them in my private journal.
I specifically remember thinking I wasn’t good enough at writing poems and short stories. It was probably due a bad grade (bad being not an A). So I forgot that dream and wandered around clueless about what I wanted to be when I grew up. All that wandering lasted years, decades even. I kept switching and settling on more “general paths.” Surely I’d be good at something eventually.
And eventually I discovered my passion (and knack) for writing. Or rediscovered I guess. Here I always thought I didn’t know what I wanted to be, but really, I knew all along. I was just afraid to go after it.