Reason to Write

 

Ever since I can remember, I have wanted to write, but I thought I lacked the magic of word power. From a young age I knew I was creative, but perhaps because of my insecurity, or because I had to speak multiple languages, I shied away from the beauty of words. Truthfully, though, I can’t blame my reluctance on any of these excuses. I don’t really know what to blame it on, except myself.

My talents led me early on to the visual arts—painting, drawing, sculpting, and later, teaching.

A few years ago, when my mother died, I was on a flight from Boston to Montreal and struck up a conversation with a stranger. We, the stranger and I, chatted about our life stories. My companion was a Harvard professor, and she had some unusual words of wisdom that she felt compelled to share. She said that in order to have a complete life, one needed to accomplish great and important things. These she called her list of priorities. Curious, I asked her what they were. She was reluctant to tell me, and only after a drink did she divulge that she had a recipe that had worked for her life but she wasn’t sure it would work for others. Now I was intrigued. After more hesitation, by which time I was really wondering if I would ever learn her secrets, she told me what one needs to live a happy, fruitful, successful life: get a solid education; marry for the right reasons; buy a modest house; have a child; plant a tree; and last of all, write a book to pass on all that one has learned in life.

I am proud to say that I have accomplished five out of the six. Really, I haven’t fared so badly. I have wondered, though, what would happen to the list if, God forbid, one lost a child, never received a proper education, never wanted to marry or had an ugly divorce, or killed the tree by overwatering it. My doubts have mounted. Is life really measured by accomplishments? What about our failures? Don’t they count? Can’t we draw valuable lessons from them?

Next time: I decide to tackle the sixth challenge—writing a book