I’m at Office Nomads coworking space today, joining others for an hour of “free writing time.” We came together, shut off the email, the Internet, the phone, and the iPad to just write. The folks at the table around me haven’t been finding enough time in their days to do the writing that they really want to do. One is creating Web copy for her business. Another is writing a blog post. Another poetry and an application for an MFA program in poetry. Another is laser-focused, working on something that she didn’t share with us.
And then there’s me.
I found my way back to writing every day. I found my way home.
hands on keyboard,
feels like home.
I find the space I need.
To be more fully present.
Open Aware Curious
And grateful to get to be me.
I came to “free writing hour” to get out of the house for a bit, hang out in a quiet room with other writers, and to hear the sounds of pens on paper and fingers on keyboards.
It’s like an introvert symphony in here.
But I don’t need to make time for writing. Not anymore.
At some point you’ve made so much time for the thing that you love most — and been helped by so many others — that that thing begins to make time for you.
Writing now makes time for me.
Writing gives me the time to sit here listening to the sound of other writers at work.
It gives me time to play with the cats.
Time to hang out with family and friends.
For browsing bookstores.
For listening to others.
For community night at the library.
For large-scale neighborhood hopscotch events.
And playing at the dog park.
And wandering in the garden.
And watching just oodles of SciFi.
I think this is one of the most important things about following your own energy and continuing to get back on the unique-to-you, really-hard-and-easy, crazy-winding-back-on-itself path toward doing work you love.
I am no longer making time for writing.
Writing makes time for me.
Thank you writing.
Thank you free-writing coworkers who helped me get a blog post done in record time.
Thank you Bas doodle.