This morning it was strangely light when I awoke. Although the dark mornings of winter have passed and I now wake up to the light, there was definitely something unusual about it all. Yesterday was the first day that really felt like spring, so I thought perhaps the sun had come bursting out with a vengeance.
It was snow.
Which meant that I got one more morning watching the frost form on the harbour. One more morning walking to work through the freshly fallen white powder, belting out Hamilton lyrics all the way. One little kid (a.k.a. Little Brat From Hell Who Laughed At Me When I Almost Went Headlong Into A Snow Drift) said to his father, ‘That lady is singing in the street.’
Yes, I was.
Because this morning I did feel strangely happy. Not because I’ve solved the whole “what do I want to be when I grow up (besides a writer)” crisis, but because I really feel like a writer again. I feel like me again. The me I lost when I was sixteen and decided maybe I should just focus on fitting in.
Yes, it all began when my son said, ‘You have to listen to this rap musical with me,’ and I’ll be forever grateful to him for that. But for the first time, I really feel part of a community. Right here. People who know what it’s like. Other writers who have the dream of seeing their book in someone’s hands on the train. Other readers who know just how heart-breaking it can be to lose yourself in a book and have to come up for air again. Other dreamers who never give up, even though sometimes it seems like the dream is fading, but still keep writing because we’d feel part of us was missing if we didn’t.
I thought a lot about that this morning as I walked. Yes, I can walk, sing and think at the same time. So this is my shout-out to all of you great people out there who have helped me feel like a writer again. Who are making me smile about being a writer even though the rest of my life is chaos.
Thank you! You’re all amazing.