2017 has arrived. For me, that means turning 51.
I have now lived for half a century. I have traveled off my home continent, met many people, lost loved ones, learned lots, forgotten more, and am now safely in middle age.
It feels as though I have arrived.
Since childhood, I have felt that my life would truly begin once I got past the first five decades. I have been chomping to get here, and now that I am, all is as it should be.
I have always wanted to be a published author. I am also a very patient person (okay maybe that is a stretch), who knows that good writing is bourne from life experience. I have carried my bags of ideas and now am ready to set them down, open them, and see what spills out.
Reading has been a passion. Storytelling is an art, whether it be Dr. Seuss or William Peter Blatty (RIP Mr. Blatty). I read the Exorcist at age 11, having plucked it from the living room bookshelf, squirreled under my blankets with a flashlight and discovered that I could be transfixed by words and tone. I felt that I could do that too, but only after escaping childhood and finding my voice.
Childhood is long gone. But my 11-year-old self is still present, as is my 21, 31, and 41 year-old selves. Now 51 looms and my feet are planted, my bags of ideas are positioned, and my heart is strong.
I logged into Twitter this morning and found a few gems:
Finding out what I know is a very exciting prospect. Getting started and making time is my only goal…the words will come.