I’m still trying to get in touch with my inner writer. I say that specifically because my writing identity is still very much on the inside instead of something I am able to overtly express at this time.
In the movie “Wit” the main character relates how she came to love poetry and words. She explains that as she journeys through cancer the love of words she developed as a child became all the more useful. She says regarding how to cope with this new reality, “My only defense is the acquisition of vocabulary.”
This got me thinking of the origin of my own love of words. I’m always trying to define how my two vocations, writing and counseling, came to be and how they relate.
I don’t remember my mom directly discussing my disability with me, or deliberately talking about attitudes and values she wanted to instill in me; attitudes and values that would influence how I adjusted to life with a disability and life in general. But I do remember her reading me The Little Engine That Could, and The Selfish Giant, and The Giving Tree, and dozens of other books that communicated the meaning of life itself to me. I grew up in awe of the impact of words, words that challenge, words that encourage, words that heal. I wanted to be able to make the words do the same thing for other people that my mom made the words do for me.
I still don’t know how or when this colossal writer’s block will crack. But I do know that every time I accomplish something I didn’t think I could do I ask myself how I managed to do it. And the answer is always because I have a great mom.
Current Read: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, JK Rowling
Current Music: Sticks and Stones, The 77’s