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10,000 Hours

10,000 Hours

My 10,000 hours

 

I’m not sure how many times I wrote, “I want to be a writer,” within the folds of my journals over the 20 years I’ve been writing, but I am sure of the moment, after writing that very sentence, that I stopped and thought, “Holy shit!  I am a writer!”

This epiphany happened over eggs at Anodyne coffee shop in Minneapolis, a place I have logged about 100 hours writing.  It was in that moment that I realized that if we are what we do, then I am a writer.

“The greats weren’t great because at birth they could paint.  The greats were great because they paint a lot.”  -Macklemore

Not because at eight years old I declared to my parents that I was going to someday write books, but because this is what I do.  I write when I am inspired and I write when I am afraid.  I write when I am pissed off and when I am in a state of grace.  I write at the DMV and I write at parks while my kids play.  I wake up in the morning, and if I’m the first one up, I write.  I write after the kids have gone to bed.  I write on airplanes and in bathrooms (seriously).  I write on the floor and at desks.  I write my dreams and then I write action plans.  I write in journals to my children and to my husband.  I write because I love to string together words and pin down a thought that resonates with my soul.

In that moment in Anodyne, I realized that if I never get a word of my writing published, I am still a writer.  And that realization alone lifted 10,000 pounds of self-doubt right off my desk.

Because we are what we do.  I write.  Therefore, I am.

 

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