Purpose Doesn't Equal Easy

“Before enlightenment; chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.” –Zen Proverb

When I started reading spiritual books, I noticed that a lot of people seemed to be looking for their purpose. Whew, I thought to myself. I could cross that one off my list of Things To Accomplish Before I Could Become Good Enough. Good Enough for what, I’m not sure—just better than what I was. Over the years, my list grew with each book I read. But at least when I hit that whole “finding your purpose” chapter that inevitably appeared, I could savor a moment of satisfaction. I could give myself an “A” on that one.

I knew I was a writer. I knew that was my purpose, and that it was the one thing I’d been put here to do. This was always clear to me, from the age of seven. Even my mother believed I was meant to be a writer. She saved my first story about our three dogs getting lost. It was an actual event, and my account is on hotel stationary because it happened while we were out of town. Perhaps this is why I later decided to become a non-fiction writer, with a specialty in travel.

At first, knowing I was a writer made choices easy for me. I took journalism and literature classes; I earned awards and accolades. Then I became old enough to have a personal life to intrude into my dreams, and writing was never again an easy choice. It was my passion and often my only link to sanity. I stopped writing during a terrible first marriage, and at that point I destroyed almost everything I’d previously written. I wanted to be a writer, but I had to get a job, and I followed where Life took me.

I kept writing, of course, off and on. My career exposed to me to all kinds of business writing; my college courses required me to write academic papers; and I kept journals and still submitted things here and there. My purpose in Life was always clear. It was just never clear what I was supposed to do with it. It was like having a key, but not knowing what door it opened.

While my writing helped me excel in an administrative/managerial world, it also left a big void. I wanted more from my writing; I wanted to be a Writer, someone who lived her life doing what she knew she did best. I wanted to see if I could make it, and I walked away from a twenty-year career partly to see if I could do it. Eight years later, I’m still finding my way in a new world.

I did become a Writer. That’s what I tell people I do, and I’ve got the business cards and writing credits to prove it. I help people write, and I lead a writing group. Even though I still have things to improve, I can say I succeeded at earning the title of Writer.

By the time I was ready to check off “become a writer” from my list, I had already realized there was no checklist to complete and turn in for my final “A.” I discovered that although the mindset of the truly successful is different from those who struggle constantly, we all have challenges. We are all human, after all, and having one piece of the puzzle doesn’t ensure an easy path. No one materializes to give you an award for pursuing your dreams, and no paycheck automatically arrives along with doing what you feel you were put on earth to do.

Along the way, I discovered a few things about writing. It’s an activity that wears many hats. For some, it’s a job; for others, a passion; for the truly blessed, both. Writing can offer us some of the best advice we’ll ever receive because it comes from our innermost self, although we may not always see it as such. In what other way can you capture your thoughts? Writing or drawing is usually the easiest way to translate what’s going on in your head to something you can use later.

The power of the written word is why every single self-help/spiritual/self-improvement book you read tells you to write a journal, to catalog your dreams, and to set written goals. Why are people who write out their goals more likely to achieve those goals? You can answer that question with quantum physics or with plain old common sense, but both answers are the same. It’s a place to start, a way to focus our attention. From Thomas Jefferson to John Grisham, all of us who write begin at the same place. We begin with an idea and a desire to capture it. From that point forward, our thoughts may become many things. Before that, it’s all a vague collection of ephemera rolling around in our brain.

Here’s a challenge: The next time a book tells you to pick up a pen and paper to write down a goal or an idea, do it. Take some time to translate your thoughts into words. Pay attention to what you create, to what you are drawn to express on paper. Don’t tell me you’re not a “writer.” Take a piece of advice from someone who has been a writer her whole life. Help your thoughts make their first step from the intangible to something more solid by writing them down, and what happens will surprise you.
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Picture courtesy of piovasco at http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1178761