Write or Die
That’s my doctrine, and it’s a ruthless one. But without it I’m hollow.
Writing is my thing. It’s the only thing in this world I’m naturally properly aligned to do. Now I feel it’s almost within my reach.
Perhaps the daily exercise here on this blog is helping. Whatever it is I’m getting comfortable on the main blog. And that’s a very good thing.
But wait — I’m not quite there. This has never been an easy task, and it will never be an easy task.
When I spent years avoiding writing, I discovered that I had to write or die. I couldn’t see myself living life with my back turned on the predilection gifted to me.
So as I grow wiser I realize that the gift is to serve a purpose and timeline much greater than me. And speaking of gifts…
The Olympic Gift
Joannie Rochette is an Olympic figure skater who lost her mother suddenly to a heart attack two days before her Olympic debut in front of her home country.
Somehow, she did it. She gathered every morsel of her body, mind and spirit and skated a truly, truly beautiful and moving performance. And then, afterwards, she broke down.
The commentators (whom I’ve grown to love over the years) did not speak once during the routine — it was just so powerful.
After it was over, Scott Hamilton, choked up, says, “There’s no bigger stage than the Olympic games, but, the skate and the moment means much more than the competition.”
…which was immediately followed by the other commentator saying:
What a gift she’s given us.
That profound statement touched me deeply, and I humbly accept Rochette’s experience and performance as my Olympic gift of the 2010 games.
The gift is this: knowledge of the strength and power of the human spirit in the midst of unimaginable suffering. She shared her art with us under the most challenging circumstances, and for that I am deeply touched and forever grateful.
Thank you for this gift, Joannie. My heart returns back out to you and others, as you have filled mine in permanence with your selfless gift of skating art.