In my ideal world…
I could just sit on my couch and write my way to a decent salary. That would be the start of it. I could forget that I have to be available 24/7 for my elderly mother. I could fail to remember that I haven’t had a holiday in over twenty years and instead dream away of where I will go to on my next exciting adventure.
I could erase the slippery feeling of not quite being ‘in’ and almost surely being ‘out’ of my own life. It is that feeling of the eternal traveler, the pilgrim always on the way to see the object of devotion. You are never quite ‘from here’ or ‘from there’.
Thus, I write to figure out if I can navigate the storms of life with a steady heart, or more likely with a shaky hand that trembles at the helm, as if it were not actually my purpose to rule over my life.
Perhaps on the way, some charming, kind souls might find my musings acceptable enough to read and they’d reward my feeble attempts at literature with a compassionate smile.
After that, who knows. I might actually be persuaded to think of myself as a writer and dream of becoming a blog-dog, green ears flapping joyfully in the wind as I trot towards the sunset.