Love of writing

Love of writing 26.5.22

I have always loved writing and returning to the computer each day, takes me into my happy place. There is nothing like whiling away the hours to create a piece of work.

There is one conflict with this, though; if it’s a sunny day I don’t like being inside and then I am torn between wanting to be on my computer and wanting to be in the sunshine. This I am sure, harks back to my childhood where I spent nearly every waking moment outdoors. I have been like that most of my life. I remember the years spent nursing, coming into the hospital each morning or afternoon and leaving behind the real world outside. The only plus to this environment was, we were warm and did have magnificent views of the lake from most windows. That kind of made up for being inside.

I think that is why I loved working in the shearing sheds so much, which was the job that followed the nursing. Even though we were undercover, smokos and lunch breaks were spent sitting on the landing in the sunshine. And of course, there was the farming; nothing could beat the feeling of setting out on a fresh morning, with the sun rising through the mist, for the day’s work.

It was while farming, living more than an hour from town, and bringing up five kids, that I forayed back into the writing scene. I say back, although I was never really in it. I had loved writing at school but had done nothing since. Those days, I composed using a pen and paper and as I got my hand back into my hobby, I enrolled on a writing course. I bought a word processor and struggled my way through its use, as the course preferred typed articles. It was some years later that I actually did learn to type, which was a component of a media studies course I undertook. This was followed with journalism studies. It didn’t take long before my typing became automatic and so now when I sit down to write, there is no conscious thought as to where the letters are. And I could never go back to pen and paper writing, for I use the cut and paste options far too often. How on earth did writers get by in the past?

As I have delved into my spirituality more, I have been the given the message on several occasions, that my life’s purpose is: to write so that others may understand.

So really, it does make sense that I should enjoy writing, otherwise how on earth would I fulfil my purpose during this lifetime?

I have been shown three lives before my current one, when I was also a writer, so I guess that helps with my enjoyment of it and perhaps, when I face that conflict of being outside in the sunshine, or inside composing, it is often the latter that wins. After all, it is probably not just me, but those before who are part of that push. Remember, there is always a bigger picture at play.