I wish I had the language and talent and experience to write something full of beauty.
I walk in the woods often. The sights, sounds, smells help me feel calm. I feel like I’m where I’m meant to be. I feel okay.
Then I say to myself, I wish I could write about this. I wish I could describe this in beautiful flowing language that reads like music. This deserves a poem.
I write simply. I had to work harder to write in school. I was under the impression that made me a bad writer. I recently found a paper I wrote in high school. Guess what? I was not a bad writer.
My education and most of my work experience is in business. My writing has always needed to be concise and to the point. I’ve needed to explain difficult concepts simply.
I have a memory of being in a meeting and being asked to explain the concepts of a balance sheet to someone without a lot of financial experience. They told me they understood, that no one had ever explained it in a way they could understand before.
I’ve been learning the last few years. I’ve read a lot. I’ve taken classes. I have waded through books about spirituality and self help. I take it all in and process it. I want to understand fully. I want to get to the root of it. Why was I so damn unhappy?
I could just not write at all. I could sit here and stare at the screen trying to find the language and words that sound like music. That flowing language and those stunning words might come to me some day after lots of practice.
I could write in the way I know how. I could write imperfectly. I could offer what I’ve learned. I could write about the ways I’ve worked through things. I could write in the way I know how.
I could write in the way that feels like me.
Honest, open-hearted, hopeful.
I can do that kind of beauty.