High Stakes

Writing may express the self, but it also quiets the self. It siphons off the busy chatter of distraction and points a way to hear the larger currents moving more deeply in ourselves. In other words, writing allows both the small and the large to have their place.

- Julia Cameron, The Right to Write

I have a lot of questions.

I'm nearly 50. My body is traveling the turbulent route into middle age. Looking in the mirror, seeing recent differences is difficult. How much does it matter?

Our home is gone. The economic downturn led to the sale of our house and a move. Eighteen months later, the future remains blank. We have ideas of how it might go, but nothing concrete. What's next? How should we plot our course from here?

My sons are suddenly men. I don't know what being a parent looks like when kids are in their 20's. Is there something important I'm neglecting?

Everything is changing. I suspect that I have too much change to process. An old life is ending. New opportunities beckon. I'm anticipating and grieving at the same time, in the same moment. Still, I try.

This is why writing matters, even if no one else reads a single word. Writing helps me understand what's happening, sort through options, find truth in my situation.

Doors have shut behind me. A new one opens ahead. The sweetness of the life I've built with my children remains, flavoring today. But it's only a memory. It cannot nourish.

I have to imagine what is possible. I have to trust and build from here. It's like standing in a familiar room with a door leading to a strange landscape. Instead of my yard, I see a wilderness.

If I let myself imagine, what might I do? What could I find? I walk across a room of memories and pull the door wide open. A cool breeze blows in. Adventure awaits. So does risk. I hesitate. I want to shut the door, to reconsider.

But that's not the choice I've been given. God always calls me forward. As I witness my own life in words, I realize something's at stake here larger than comfort. My life is a small story, yes, but not entirely mine. It's also part of God's great story of redemption. My next move makes a difference.

I must face it, face myself. I must live in now and not yet. When I do, I become the instrument of my own change. I play the music I dance to. We are one, the music and I, when we move together.

A second life begins as I pass through this doorway -- as I embrace newness, anticipation, and grieving. I'll find my strength and my rhythm as we lock arms. This is the beauty of now and not yet, this dance we share, this dance of collaboration in new places.

Writing is collaboration. It is never a lone venture. In writing I glance back, I'm pulled forward, yet I'm centered in this moment. That's why it's perfect for passages.

I agree with Julia that writing grounds us, gives us perspective, helps us feel what we're feeling, and choose what really matters to us. She's right that we should all consider what writing can do for us. We tend to go too fast; we need to slow down and ponder. Writing is about more than making books. It's about being fully and gloriously alive.

That's why I'm writing.

This is the last of the discussion series which is part of a book study at High Calling Blogs. You can visit there to follow the Monday discussions and enjoy the thoughts of other bloggers.