Here goes . . . something.

I'm a lot of things.

I am a Christ-follower, wife and mother, and those are most important. I am a daughter, sister, friend, American, teacher by profession (which means I'm an employee and co-worker, too), leader in some circles, follower in others, listener, talker, reader, coffee drinker, singer, thinker, Facebook stalker (really hate to admit that one), sometime worrier, frequent encourager, multi-tasker whenever necessary, late sleeper whenever possible . . . you get the picture.

But there's this other thing I've always wanted to be, since I was in fifth grade, and in my mind I think of myself as this. I think of this as one of the many things I am. But if I'm to be completely honest, I simply cannot put this on that list.

Until today. Because starting today. . . I am a writer.

There. I said it. Out loud, in a manner of speaking. And the funny thing is I'm not sure I even really know what I mean by that. Am I a novelist? No, because I have never written a novel, let alone published one. Am I a children's book author, freelance magazine writer, newspaper columnist? No, for the same reason I'm not a novelist. Oh, I've written plenty of things. Blog posts, newsletters, drama scripts, short stories, poems, term papers, journal entries, emails, training manuals, sermons, ideas for more short stories and novels and children's books and screenplays for the movie of my life story (that last part has mainly been written in my imagination). But even the fact that I've written these things really well doesn't make me a real writer. Do you know what would make me a "real" writer? Writing. Yes, painfully simple, I know. But I've always heard, "Writers write." Not just when they have to for some very practical purpose, but whenever they can and just because. And this is why I am NOT a writer.

Until today. Because starting today . . . I am a writer.

So I'll be writing. Whenever I can. Just because. For starters, I'll write here, on this blog, because if I don't write now, I may never do it at all. And perhaps, by doing so, I'll become what I've always thought I was but have never really been.

Here goes . . . something.