Remembering Why You Started

The years have a way of making you forget.  

They make you forget how you used to light up, or the way you could get lost in something and care less about the time you were spending, or maybe even just investing in a particular thing because you enjoyed it, not for the productivity or value of it.

Life, as Langston's mom character tells us is in "Mother to Son", is no 'crystal stair'. That means something different to everyone. Everyone has varying degrees of pain and obstacles in their life. But for most, there are boards torn up, splinters to be had, tacks. There are places that are bare. 

Yet, still she climbed. Are you still climbing?

Or did you forget?

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Maybe the plan changed.

Maybe you failed.

Maybe other dreams took precedence.

Maybe the self-doubt took too much from your confidence.

Maybe other people were better.

Maybe the timing was wrong.

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Sometimes we really do walk away from passions or dreams in our life and that's a good thing. It's not always meant to be. Change can be positive. It doesn't mean your decision to quit, or refocus your energy or delight elsewhere is negative. If you laid a dream to rest and it produced a garden for you - embrace that with confidence.

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But for my dear ones, still held by a dream: I'm talking to you. It's time to remember why you started.

I didn't mean to start. I'm a huge quitter. I had zero intentions to begin. But if you know me, or have spent anytime meandering on this blog, you know: to write is all there is. 

I started in the usual, Tennessee way, just trying to write country lyrics that rhymed with 'blue' as a kid. I didn't know much about telling a story, but I knew about listening to one. Listening is what made me write. I understood how it felt to be the person experiencing the story, but no idea how to be the protagonist. This is a writing posture that would follow me into present day. Some of us can narrate, but the best thing we know is how to observe. We can feel it, but it's wildly hard to explain. Yet, we still try. We chose the very thing that asks us to explain - knowing the challenge. 

So I was kid that wrote cheesy lyrics and wanted to sing, who wasn't? That's not why started, it's just where I began. Why I started was because my aunt handed me a journal. I was 13. I was quiet, reserved and had enough insecurity for three people - not much changes. 

Except adult Maggie puts up a fight when the darkness or voices come ready to box. I learned to put up that fight through writing. It became the boxing ring. The pages became the place where all the emotion, sweat, and energy could go without worry. There I had gloves. I could let it all free. The beast didn't have to be tame in the ring - it was there to be knocked around. My titanium thoughts that had been impenetrable before - were now bloodied on the floor. When they stood up, black-eyed and bruised, we were finally level. I couldn't ever stand eye to eye with my thoughts, but when I gained my partner in paper - we could go toe to toe.

I remember why I started: because someone believed I could.

And from it grew a love so strong. When I was young, that's all it took - someone thinking I could. Then I'd keep going on to the next person that validated that. It's a beautiful reason to start, but an impossible reason to continue. I thought that's what I needed to continue was just to remember why I began, but as I try to romanticize it to even myself - I'm struck by the truth that sometimes the foundation isn't sound. Yet, the house will stand. It will weather the mightiest storms despite. Sometimes there's no moment, or threshold, or door you burst forth from - you simply believe you can because someone else did. 

I don't know why you began. Maybe it's grand, maybe it's mundane. Either way, I want to tell you what I'm trying to tell myself: you can evolve, you can realize you haven't done your best, and you can talk about the growing pains within your dream, craft, relationship - whatever it is. Your next step is to decide why you'll continue. The past is a sweet memory, and it will push you on in the necessary moment, but for life and hope you need reasons to persist. 

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I needed someone to show me dreaming wasn't foolish. I needed someone to show me a practical way that a dream became a job or a hobby, etc. I needed someone to pull down a star and let me observe it's sheen, but when they tipped it towards me to touch - I'd always recoil. 

Now it's time I learned how to brush my hand across that star I was given long ago. It burns in my pocket. It turns over just hoping to escape. I had been hoping that I'd be given a sky full of stars without having to have the courage to go pluck them down myself. 

I remember why I started, but I'm finally more excited about why I'll continue. I'll keep writing because it doesn't matter if I'm not the best, or if I have to be an amateur and feel a bit embarrassed, it doesn't matter if someone says I can or I should - I'm not waiting for those words anymore. I'll build right here with the materials I have. I'll keep climbing. I'll continue because God has given me today. He's shown me this tool to hug people close up and from afar with only a string on words. I want to find a way to do that better everyday. 

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I invite you to respect and celebrate your beginnings, be at peace with forks in the road, and pause for rest then maneuver the bumps on the way. 

Living will exhaust you. Being aware will absolutely break your heart over and over again - you know this. There will always be something to take your time. It will be hard. The challenge will make you bend, sometimes a bone will break in the process. You'll say, 'why do I try?'. You'll beg for a change of scenery. You'll pray for movement. I know, I've done it, too. 

It will seem like every reason in the world to silence that song that plays in your mind over and over. But I ask you to remember why you're taking this next step, for whatever things, people, dreams you love. 

By choosing to continue, we choose to create.

 In a world that erases, darkens, casts shadows and intimidates us to shrink - little you and little me have the impeccable power to create. We can make room. Build a bigger table. Tell more stories. And there are so many tools needed in that process. I guarantee you're holding one of them. 

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Continue.