This is a Thought. This is a Confession. This is a Thank you.

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I was an adult when I first realized that not everyone had seen a forest.

I remember it filled me with a sadness, which is a forest all it's own.

How could I fathom there were some who didn't know its magic?

As I wrote these words into my poetry journal today, I thought about all the things that I'm so lucky to have. I know I'm one of the few who gets to focus on what I love. I have a husband who supports my writing-- even though that means that right now we don't have a certain lifestyle that other couples our age do--and I have a place like wattpad where I can experience what it feels like to share your gift. The joy those bring me is worth so much more than any particular lifestyle we could have if I had a job that brought in a normal income. It's because I get to share a piece of myself with people who appreciate it, encourage it, help shape it, and challenge it.

I read this on facebook the other day:

"When buying from an artist/maker, you're buying more than just an object/painting. You are buying hundreds of hours of failures and experimentations. You are buying days, weeks and months of frustration and moments of pure joy. You aren't just buying a thing, you're buying a piece of heart, part of a soul, a moment in someone's life. Most importantly, you're buying the artist more time to do something they are passionate about." -unknown

That's how I feel about the support from my husband, fans, family, friends and everyone who read something I posted on wattpad, who voted/commented/added my stories to their libraries, or shared about them. I know you aren't buying my writing*. But you are sharing in it with me. You've shared in the most special part of that journey. The part where I learned and experimented and discovered what my voice was--who I was. My life struggles, the pains and aches, are reflected in every word I type as I learn how to write an expression of my voice and feelings. My characters went through the motions but I felt them, and in a way you shared that with me.

I realized this year how much writing really means to me. I don't want to imagine a world, my world, where that isn't a thing. Truthfully that is the scariest existence I could image. For so long I felt lost and like I needed to find a place to have a purpose. And it wasn't until I could start expressing/sharing those feelings through writing that I realized that I didn't have to do anything to have purpose. I could just BE and that means being me, (not who I think I should be), and a big part of me is a lover of imagination, a dreamer and a storyteller.

Of course I would love to make the thing I love my career. I would love to be able to support my family with writing. But in the end I know that this feeling I have of thankfulness in the depth of my chest comes from those shared moments and not a mortgage free home(though I wouldn't complain. (>‿◠)✌ ).

YOU dear reader, yes you the one who gave the time to read this message, will have my words and my heart for as long as I can write and as long as I can feel (whether you like it or not. Ha ha)

So...Thank you.

*EDIT (APRIL 3RD/2016):



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