The seed of an idea, to move from being a sporadic, informal storyteller to putting my thoughts on a more formal platform, took root long ago. The birth of that idea will take me another step further. I’ve gotten past the first stage, where I didn’t speak it out loud. It was too fragile. I lacked confidence. I wasn’t sure my voice had that much value. Now, I’m in my first trimester. I’m settling in to the idea. I’m getting excited about it. Some of the stories I’ve told have encouraged meaningful conversations … with my friends, with my family. But it still feels tenuous.
There are details in the evolution … the business side of it, the marketing; getting the word out. I created a new Instagram account. Added a link to my blog. And I’m on Twitter! But I have not mastered that. This will continue to be an interesting learning process.
But it’s not the heart or soul of my journey.
I’ve thought a lot about inspiration recently. Things need to happen in order to have something to write about. They can be little things … the beauty of the season’s first snowfall. Or they can be epic, like sailing around the Antarctic Peninsula. But mostly, they’re somewhere in between. For me, inspiration can come in many forms. But, travel. Wanderlust. When I’m planning a trip, remembering a place, reminiscing over photos, talking about where I’m going, or where I’ve been, I can feel the vibration in my bones.
Four years ago yesterday, I was with my sister on a trip to Thailand and China. Two years later, I buckled up and headed to Africa. Yesterday, I got my pre-departure briefing for Antarctica. In between, I felt the sand in my toes in the Galapagos Islands. I kissed the Blarney Stone.
I often wonder what my life would be like if I hadn’t tiptoed along the edge of the brink. If I’d never felt an invasive ventilator pumping life-giving air in to my lungs. What if I never observed the relief and joy of my family as I responded after a night of being told I wasn’t going survive? Would I have tried to see so much of the world? Maybe, but likely not with the same sense of urgency. Those things did happen, though, and it gave my life fire. Turns out, the chance to start over was the very best kind of gift. One I won’t ever take for granted.
The seed of an idea … I think there’s a book in that.