Why do I write--or not?

This morning when I was on my treadmill reading (well reading while I was walking), what I was reading made me think about my writing (or lack thereof). Among other books, I am currently reading Writing Begins with the Breath: Embodying Your Authentic Voice by Larraine Herring. Larraine is a writer, author and teacher. In the chapter titled Self-Awareness she talks about how you should consider why you write by turning the question around and considering why you don't write or why you procrastinate in your writing.

That got me to thinking and had I not still had a half hour left on the treadmill, I would have sat right down and written my thoughts on this. But instead I avoided the act of writing by prioritizing my exercise above my writing. So why do I do that? Is the exercise more important than the writing? Perhaps for my physical and future wellness the exercise is something I should not push to the side. But for my mental wellness I need to write. Larraine explains in another chapter that writing is just like showing up for exercise. Weight loss and good health will occur if I keep showing up for the exercise and writing will take me places if only I'd keep showing up.

So why do I not put my writing up at the top of my priority list? Perhaps it is because the writing is mine, the writing is for me, the writing is my joy,release, escape. And because I have just recently, early into my 60s made time for me. It is a long story, briefly covered in some of my other post (I think). A story of a caretaker and someone that always tried to please everyone else but herself. That was me. And so perhaps that was the void I never could fill. Perhaps there is some truth in the words "to thine own self be true". Only in brief moments throughout the last 45 years or so have I taken more than just a day or two (perhaps a week) to be true to myself and to acknowledge the voice crying inside me, the spirit calling out my name from some far off place, the aching that will not go away, the burning need to write. That voice, that calling,keeps showing up, keeps begging to be recognized as real and important, will not let go no matter how far I push it aside. And now it demands to be heard. It has broken free from the depths of my being and is racing through every vessel, every pore, every thought. It will no longer take no for an answer. It will no longer be pushed aside while I take care of someone else.

The line at the top of my blog says "Someday, Somewhere, Somehow...to write a book and have it published--hopefully in this lifetime". Perhaps that will happen and perhaps it will not. But this I know. This is what is important...that I listen to my calling, that I show up everyday and that I write. I am a writer. I always have been.