Coming Alive Again: What Makes Me Come Alive (The Power of Writing)

I used to blog, and then I didn't, and now I am. Hello! Rather than a long, introductory apology or explanation, let's get into things.

First, you'll notice nothing is pink anymore. That's probably because we have three girls now and I have a lot of pink in my life. Nobody needs to convince me of my femininity at this point in my existence, although there was a very real season for that. You want femininity? Our house is home to about eighty seven ponytails and sixteen tubes of chapstick. Ladies represent.

Why I'm back? Tonight I was listening to Hannah Brencher bring the house down in a business webinar when she asked the question that made this blog change from dormant to active & hot pink to classic tones in less than two hours (I work fast):

WHAT MAKES YOU COME ALIVE?

What makes me come alive? Getting my words out. I can't explain it, but when I start to breathe life into words, life is breathed into me. It's this crazy, circular, hand-wringing, shoulder bopping thing that kind of works me into a dance. I love to write. I love to write. And it breathes life into me because I have this amazing chance to breathe life into something - or maybe someone - else.

I started writing when I was six because my Grandma told me I'd be good at it, and I stopped when I was twenty three because I decided there was no longer room for me at the table. I was mommy blogging, and who wasn't? I was sharing recipes and so was everyone else with a URL and a frying pan. My voice felt drowned out, and I didn't like the idea of having to shout my words, so I stopped blogging.

No, I didn't just stop blogging, I stopped writing altogether. Aside from a handful of commercial projects for web-based clients, my writing screeched to a halt and I have to say, I think my creative juices sprung a leak and sort of dripped dry. That tends to happen with a craft; if you don't practice it, it gets rusty. I wrote a lot about concrete design these last two years. And I don't know the first thing about concrete design.

So here I am, rusty and ready to breathe life back in again. I'm sure the table is full, but I'm not sitting here to be heard, I'm sitting here so I can feel alive. Let's sit here together, let's dine together, and for goodness sakes, what makes you come alive? I'd love to see you breathe in once more, too.

"There is nothing to writing.
All you do is sit at a typewriter,
and bleed."
- Ernest Hemingway