The Gift of Intent
My life has been extreme, to say the least, and now, rowing my own boat on tranquil waters is a relief. I am no longer hitchhiking or riding someone else’s coattails. Coming into my own in my 50s has released the creative juices I knew I had all along. My creative fountain was suppressed by low self-esteem, confusion, and regret. Ultimately, freedom from the restraints of guilt and shame allowed me the confidence to pursue the dream I had always had of becoming an author.
In my basement, I have numerous journals filled with teenage expressions of emotional turmoil, drunken adventures, and exciting sexual escapades. I was compelled to document my every move, every tear, and every crush. Over the years, my brain became a data bank, storing significant events captured through the lens of self-discovery. I always wanted to become a writer, but the missing link held me back. And what is that link that shifts journaling to novel writing? It is the intention to give generously to the public a piece of your soul that can change the perspective of the reader to attune to humanity in a more empathetic way. By absorbing a character's experience, we connect to humanity at large, expand our understanding by stepping out of ourselves, and relate to the wholeness of our existence. It is a philosophical adventure, a journey to discover more profound meaning, seeking the truth for the protagonist.
What clicked for me was the intention I developed to build bridges between people through my writing. I do it for me in a sense, but the intent is a gift for others to grow from, as I have done, and continue to do. I am a tree planted in a beautiful field, deeply rooted and blossoming. I have finally arrived, soaking in the sun, breathing the air, consciously, with the freedom to be exactly who I am, giving to the atmosphere my uniqueness, which is at once our sameness. It is the unifying force of life that inspires me to write, and that is an infinite source we can all tap into.