I have a close personal friend who is a very talented writer…at least in my opinion. She has written poetry, at least one short story and I believe the start of a novel, along with other written works that would probably fall into the category by default – creative, metaphorical, free form and free flow. She is creative, witty, sharp, intelligent, and has a great sense of humor. And on the surface, she is well liked and would fall into most-people’s definition of successful: steady job, good marriage, loving parents, mid-level management in a large stable company in the financial sector, gets out, huge sports fan and goes to several sporting events each year.
And yet, she is sad - at least that’s probably the closest
applicable emotion to use. Empty. Unfulfilled. Lost. The issue is this sentence
from above: “she is well liked and would
fall into most-people’s definition of successful…” Because it’s not her
definition of success. Her definition of success, in my words from the many written
conversations we’ve had, is to have her creatively-written expressions have an
impact on the world. To be published, recognized, critically acclaimed – and maybe
not in those specific concrete terms, but definitely along the looser generic
abstract terms.
She has always known that she wanted to write. She
recognized early that she had a talent for writing that she wanted to develop. And
growing up in the town we grew up in, in the generation we grew up in, we were
always told to follow our dreams, reach for the stars, and embrace your talents.
UNTIL…
