I sat in a boutique in downtown Franklin, holding a latte made at a coffee pop up stand my friend had invited me to. This stand, which is pretty remarkable, had conversation cards to spark meaningful chats between friends and strangers. One of the questions was, “Who do you want to be?”
In my idealist youth, a slew of people would have come to mind: Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Winston Churchill, Theodore Roosevelt, John Buchan, Dan Allender, Curt Thompson, Tim Keller, N.T. Wright, Paul Johnson, Francis Schaeffer. Basically, authors, psychologists, theologians, and world shapers that have made their mark on mankind, history, or simply my life and community.
The surprising thing, though, was that none of these defaults set well. And all I could think in that moment was, “I just want to be the best version of myself and who I’m meant to be.”
I mark that moment as one of the greatest realizations of growth in my life. Meaning, I’m no longer trying to be someone I’m not. I simply want to be me. And, as someone who has always pushed myself to make my mark on the world for the better, I’ve always had totally unrealistic expectations of myself thinking it would bring me happiness. I’ve since learned, none of that does. And, I want more out of the short life we have on earth.
The Past Few Years
Chances are we probably connected when I was moving to Greece to work with refugees. I had thousands of people on a monthly newsletter where I shared my journey, struggles, and observations of the cross-cultural serving life in addition to the social media I ran to keep in touch with everyone. That may be where you became familiar with my writing, my hopes, my dreams, and my aspirations.. They were all good goals of making a difference in hurting peoples’ lives. However, as the journey continued, tragedy ensued and my world turned upside, both in Greece and back in America.
Walking through grief and loss has been the hardest time of my life. It also did something to me that I never expected—I suddenly couldn’t write. I lost my voice, lost the desire to write, lost my joy in it. I would stare at cursor for an hour with a blank mind. Grief took me away from myself. But, as time, space, and healing have come, I find myself tentatively treading the waters back into writing. Wandering this desert has lasted longer than I anticipated, but I’m finally feeling like I’m coming back to my own. And that I finally have something to give. Writing once more calls to me.
Wholeness as the Goal
Writing has always been part of my identity, so going for multiple years without the ability to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) led my to re-evaluate that standing in my life. Peeling back layers, I saw how unhealthy that was. Writing is a gift—I see that now. A gift for myself to understand the world, to elevate the voices of others, and to give focus on injustice in a distracted world. Going without it these past few years, as I’ve focused on other areas of my being, has led me to realize I’m ok with not making my mark on history through journalism or writing the best book known to man. I’m ok with small steps, lived in faithfulness, in love, in empathy within the community I’ve been placed. It’s not about what I’ve accomplished, it’s about who I am as a person that matters. Bragging rights only satisfy for so long.
When I answered the conversation card’s question this group, saying I just want to be me, I confessed I was thinking about writing again. My friend challenged me to publicly blog what’s coming up for me, the internal wisdom I’m realizing that’s inside me, and the experiences I’ve had because I’ll never know who it’ll encourage.
Her challenge, in addition to encouragement from another important person in my life, set me to take the plunge. But, this time, I’m not writing to convince an audience of anything, to call you to action, to educate you, to become known as a subject matter expert, etc. This time, my writing goal is simply to observe the world through the eyes of a person healing and searching for wholeness.
My goal is wholeness, as much as I can get in this life. And, if my experiences and observations spark something in another person’s life in that journey, I’ll be happy. And, if this blog goes unread, that’s ok, too. Crafting the written word simply brings me joy.
So, my next step in wholeness is stopping to reflect how to become the best version of myself, the person I was meant to be. Writing helps me with that. What helps you on that journey?