A Childhood Wish

Childhood fears and childhood wishes never lost their power. At the moment you were certain they’d been set aside, they rose up unexpectedly and took you just as strongly as they had before, as though reminding you that no one ever truly left the past behind.

Susanna Kearsley, Bellewether

Interestingly, this post could just have easily been titled “A Childhood Fear” as more often than not, one is the reason the other is put aside. If your childhood wish is to travel the world, your fear of flying must be pushed through to achieve this. Conversely, if your childhood fear is public speaking, your childhood wish to become Prime Minister (or President) may be forgotten.

But this doesn’t mean the one pushed aside is gone forever. Severe turbulence on your way to visit Thailand may bring back all those nightmares of plummeting from 35,000 feet high while toastmasters combined with a particularly disappointing performance by an elected leader may reignite the desire to do your part to change the world through public office.

You just never know where life may take you.

Where am I going with all this, you might ask? Well, grab yourself a hot drink and a cozy blanket (or a cold drink and a hammock if you’re living anywhere near me) because we have a lot of catching up to do.

It has been almost half a year since I have written a single word. Not just since I have blogged. SINCE I HAVE WRITTEN A SINGLE WORD. OK, OK, that might be an exaggeration. I mean…I’ve texted, I’ve written emails, I’ve jotted down a few “I am grateful for…”s but writing for the sake of writing? Nope. Nada. Which is mind-blowing.

So, here’s the thing. I had a lot of dreams as a kid. I was what Supertramp would call “nothing but a dreamer”. It would not be an exaggeration to say I spent probably a quarter of my childhood with my head in the clouds (something my family would, I think, back me up on).

I watched a Hilary Duff movie? I dreamed of becoming an actress. I read Nancy Drew? I imagined I had just solved the mystery of Anastasia Romanov’s apparent survival. I went for a swim? What I was actually doing was discovering a clan of mermaids at the bottom of my grandparents’ pool. There was nothing my imagination couldn’t cook up in Technicolor and I was happy drifting through this glorious private world whenever I was given the opportunity.

But childhood wishes? That was something different. That I can remember, I have had only one single wish since I was little. One thing I would think in my head before I blew out the candles every year. I wished I may, I wished I might, to be a writer….outta sight? OK so that was badly executed but, hey, I said I wanted to be a writer. Not a poet.

And my childhood fear? That I wasn’t good enough to become one.

This wish carried through to high school when I would pour my heart and soul into every essay, creative writing assignment, and “about me” paragraph I was assigned. I joined a program where I toured local schools and wrote reviews of plays and musicals for the chance to be published in the local paper. And every time I received a “B” grade or was not selected for publication, that old fear was right there to remind me of its existence.

When it came to applying for university, I applied to the School of Journalism at Carleton University in Ottawa because I believe this career path would marry my love of writing with my insatiable curiosity and firm belief that everyone has a story to tell. In the end, I did not go forward with journalism after my 5-year long degree and that fear inside me was quick to tell me it was because I didn’t have what it took to make writing of any kind my career.

I even did a Master’s in history which ended with my first published(ish) work in the form of my Thesis. Not my best bit of writing but it was mine. Around the same time I was writing my thesis, the idea for a novel pushed through into my consciousness and I started writing that down too with my dreams (of both the night and day varieties) becoming wholly focused on my imminent discovery as a budding writer of extraordinary talent.

But my childhood fear of failure kept reminding me that my novel was unlikely to ever get finished let alone find a publisher. And then? Well, life happened. And not entirely in a bad way…it just…happened.

I got my first adult job which, while it started incredibly positively, ended in a mental health crisis which coincided (much more positively) with my marriage to the love of my life. This rather explosive combination was swiftly followed by the purchase of a house, having a baby, and immediately being locked down in our new house with our new baby at the onset of a global pandemic.

As my blog can attest, my childhood wish of becoming a writer made occasional feeble attempts at resurfacing. I made grand statements every year that I was back, better than ever, and that writing was now miraculously my top priority.

But…it wasn’t. I had a baby to take care of, a household to run (with help, of course, from my lovely husband), several jobs to work in order to help keep said household running and baby taken care of, and sometimes I even had some downtime to just curl up and watch TV. Slowly but surely, I felt that childhood wish be repeatedly set aside in the interest of my new life. On the bright side…my childhood fear seemed to finally be dormant. Perhaps because it didn’t have an active wish to do battle with.

Now, I don’t want this to sound like my life has bullied my wish to be a writer into submission. Far from it. My life as a mother and wife (and now business owner…!) is so full and extraordinarily blessed. I do not regret any of the decisions I have made which has brought me to this point. I have two beautiful girls, a loving husband, a comfortable home and now a business that allows me to nurture the lifestyle that suits me and my family best.

And, anyway, I shouldn’t have worried about that wish of mine. Because that wish was indeed powerful. Far too powerful to sit by the wayside for too long.

As our youngest started sleeping better through the night and my energy (both physical and mental) started to return I found my thoughts turning back more and more often to this blog and my still-unfinished novel.

In the past, my mind would wander occasionally to wondering whatever happened to that dedicated young writer who would park herself in a coffee shop every single day after work to write out a chapter or two of her novel. Who would stay up until 2AM writing because the inspiration was irresistible. But then I would shrug and accept that this was another Erin from another life who has had the luxury of all the time in the world. She was no longer me. And besides, my fear had forever reminded me that my writing wasn’t valuable anyway.

But that wasn’t true.

That Erin didn’t have all the time in the world. She found the time. She carved out whatever time she could to write down even a few words not simply because she wanted to but because she had to. Because writing was in her blood. That wish she had made every birthday throughout childhood was a driving force in her life, part of what made her tick. And if she didn’t spend some time every day nurturing it, she would feel the consequences as a huge piece of her soul went ignored.

And that’s when I realized. I didn’t wish to be a writer. I am a writer. Something I’ve written out before, on this blog even, but never fully believed. That childhood wish never lost its power because it is my power: it is who I am. That childhood fear, however? That has lost its power. Hopefully for good.

So…no…I have not magically found more time to write. I have not suddenly gained the ability to wake up at 4AM when the world is quiet and I can sit in peace with my muse. I have not committed to writing 500 words a day. Or 1000 words a day. Or however many words a “writer” is supposed to write.

But, I’m once again writing. When I can, however I can. And that’s what truly counts, isn’t it?

What’s the point of this post, you ask? I’m not entirely sure. But I wanted to write something. Perhaps the point is this: if your childhood wish rises unexpectedly again in your psyche like a phoenix from the ashes…let it. Who knows – maybe it’s trying to nudge you towards what you were meant to do. And maybe, just maybe, if you nurture it…it can grow stronger and more powerful than any fear which may have once held it down.

Thank you for being on this journey with me, dear reader, and for waiting around for my belated return to form. I truly appreciate it.

And, remember, Life is beautiful.

xo Erin