I Want To Be A Writer

Not in a, "I want to quit my job tomorrow" way, but in a quiet, genuine way.

I have been narrating through my journey of motherhood for over two years.  I enjoy sharing the day-to-day blood and guts of what it means to be a mom, but I always feel there is more to say.  And then I think, who wants to read the inner workings of my brain?  Not that I am so concerned with how I will be received, but I have this guilt about being self-gratifying and indulgent.  Then I struggle to take myself seriously.  Even now, as I edit these words the voice in my head is Carrie Bradshaw's and I envision that this is not an open jar of peanut butter next to me (that I am eating by the finger-swipe-full), but instead, some fancy red wine that I drink while nestled in my white, down comforter.

I also fear that I will contribute to the mountains of empty words that have been freely given to the internet's users.  I loathe most circulated blog posts- catchy titles for articles excusing people's shitty behavior.  I don't want to be another contributor to the masses of unfounded opinions and half-inspired stories.  So it is with fear that I admit that I want to jump onto this ship.

As someone who has anxiety, I have learned enough about myself to know, that my anxiety is greatest when I am trying to shut myself up.  Trying to quiet the stirring of ideas and options in my mind, and resisting newness, make my problems greater.

Yet, still I want to write.  

I did something crazy and applied for graduate school, not for writing, but for teaching.  I am nearing 30 and have one child under two.  I work full time and my husband has a job that requires a lot of travel.  Everything is nuts right now, but I really hope I get in.

I went to the campus last week to see some of the work the current students are doing and I was so inspired.  Walking the halls of academia, even using the lavatories of academia, rejuvenated me!  Things were quiet there.  All the learners were there on their own volition.  I remembered studying.  I remembered I was a thinker.  I remembered I was a scholar.  A spark of pre-mom me was awakened.  A spark I had ignored in recent years.  The spark of seeking knowledge and using my brain in creative and constructive ways.

I left that night feeling so much.  I wanted to write it all down, so I decided to start a new blog.  Some other anonymous channel full of philosophy, musings, short stories, and poems.  But as I pulled into my driveway, thinking of my son inside, it hit me.  I truly believed that my creative-self and mom-self were so separate from each other they each deserved their own web address. 

Sinking into this realization, I saw the fatal flaw of dividing myself in half.  I felt the heaviness of realizing that I already had.  I made a decision to put it all together.  To be both a mom and artist. (I use that term very loosely.)  I will allow myself to be both those things.  

So with that- Farts on Parade will be adding some new subject matter to the pages.  Not all the time and it probably won't be good (at least not for a while, writing takes practice), I am going for it.  I will still write about my little bubba and his antics, as this blog is my love letter to him, but perhaps a little snippet of my writer's dreams will come along with it.