Becoming a Writer for Dad and Me
Life is good when you follow your heart and use your head to realize your dreams. As a freelance writer, my dream is to travel and live anywhere in the world and work from my laptop.
Freedom, fun, and adventure, beckon me to distant lands, which taunt me with erotic aromas of exotic cutlures that promise satisfaction for all my senses. In my dreams, I’m whisked away in an unfamiliar melody, that teases my toes and frees my mind to let go and explore faraway places and unfamiliar but friendly faces, all with laptop in tow.
Writing Through a Life in Transition
When Dad died at 75 and I turned 50, it was a wake up call to get busy living, loving and seeing the world. I didn’t waste any time. I sold my business, moved, and surrendered to uncertainty, in order to live my life from a higher calling, my heart. That was a huge leap towards my dream of becoming a freelance writer.
I asked myself, “If not now, then when would I start making my dreams my reality? So I got busy making changes, lots and lots of well planned out changes. And, guess what, none of my plans worked out! I took a huge risk. I planned and prepared. And yikes! None of it worked out, none of it! Now what? Sur-thrival, that’s what.
I still don’t have it all figured out, but I’ve realized that life is what happens when I’m busy making plans. So I’m trying a new approach. I am ditching the plan and just letting my heart lead the way. It is my compass now.
No, I am not a hippe with no direction in life. I have specific goals and life experiences I intend to achieve. I’m just not going to try so hard anymore. I’m going to allow it to happen. I’ll do my part, as I prepare myself and practice my craft. I will work hard and be prepared when opportunity comes knocking.
My biography is still being written, with many chapters undefined.
As I embark on this new adventure in my life, I am humbled by the challenging task of reinventing myself and redesigning my life. It’s not a linear, neat and tidy, or even graceful journey of going from point A to point B on a well planned route. There have been many unforseen detours, pot holes, traffic jams and pile ups along the way that have pulled me off course. I’m learning patience, surrender, and to trust life, as it reveals what’s next for me.
I’ve tossed the road map out the window. I’m letting Life guide me now. I’m humbled by the realization of how uncertain life is. I’ve learned that in order for me to be happy I must surrender to uncertainty and trust life.
I’ve made a commitment to myself and my dear sweet dad to live my life full out and to be happy for the both of us. I have a whole lotta of living to do for me and for Dad now.
These are the precious moments and days of my life ticking away. I must make use of them, so that Dad and I both are yelling yipee all the way down this roller coaster ride.
It sure beats living a life filled with regrets of what coulda, shoulda, woulda happened if only I had . . .
Writing for Dad and Me
Dad was a writer too. As I write this, it is a rare chilly and rainy December night in America’s Finest City- San Diego. I’m reminded of a similar day when Dad contacted me to confirm my choice to be a writer.
It was only a couple of weeks after he died. I was still living in Tucson, AZ. It was the end of July during the monsoon season. I had just sat down and opened up my laptop and recommitted to my writing. I started writing when the rain started to pour down, from another monsoon storm passing through. At that exact moment, as if it was orchestrated, one of Dad’s songs he used to sing to us kids growing up came on the radio- Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head. Chills rain up and down my spin as I felt his presence as though he was standing there next to me. I could even hear him say proudly, “Hey kiddo, I’m so proud of you. There you go. I knew you would eventually do it! Write, kiddo write. You were born to write. Write for me, and write for you. I am so proud of you, Deb.”
So here I am, on another rainy day writing for you and for me, Dad. I miss you, especially when it’s raining outside and I’m writing. I peek outside to smell the rain and dance in it with my dogs. Every once in a while I get a glimse of you hiding amongst the raindrops that keep falling on my head as I am singing and dancing in the rain.
This one’s for you Dad. I love and miss you. I write in your honor to pay trubute to your life, Dad. May you rest in peace. I’m just getting started.
Deborah Brightstar ©2014