I went to a bookstore tonight and found myself.
For some, the process of finding themselves can be a long, involved process riddled with failed love affairs, too many overnight stays in hostels or on friends’ floors, and possibly a visit to rehab… or at least some drug use. My path to self-discovery was long and involved as well, but instead of hostels and drugs being the catalyst, there was a mobile home and a few children.
So, tonight I went with Hubby to the local evil chain bookstore and while he looked for some literature to purchase with his birthday giftcard I grabbed some crafting books to look through as Boychild played with the train in the children’s section. I flipped through the pages of a wonderful book (that is now on my Amazon wish list) and was inspired enough to sketch some ideas and jot down notes on an envelope I dug out of my purse.
Why do I think this was so cool? Because, as I was sketching and writing and being inspired I felt like I was an artist. I was able to own my desire to create the things I was drawing on that envelope and it wasn’t just “something I want to do”, it was something I know I can do and will do. I am able, now, to call myself an artist and a writer and own those titles and not feel like I’m just wishing or dreaming.
So, as I walked back through the store on the way out, this realization came to me and it was a small, quiet, earthshaking moment for me. I suppose it was worth waiting for.