Not too long ago I was complaining to Mr. Egg about my lack of time to write.
My complaint wasn't directed at him. It was just a general complaint to the universe and to whomever else happened to be near enough to hear.
I'd really just been running my mouth off. Just complaining.
But Mr. Egg looked pensive for a moment and then said, with great sincerity, "I'm really sorry you've had to spend so much of your life taking care of the kids and me, and working, and all the other stuff you have to do. I really wish you could have had more time to write."
His words jolted me back to reality.
Would I trade my life, my kids, my husband, for unlimited writing time? Of course not. There's no contest there.
But his words gave rise to other thoughts...thoughts I'd never really had before his comment.
What if I had been given back my whole life (or at least the past 25 years) to do nothing but write?
What if someone had locked me in an ivory tower when I was 20 years old? Just me, a pen, and a pad of paper?
What if I'd been told, "Okay, you have the time. Now write."
You know what? I would have had nothing to write about. Nada. Zilch.
I hadn't really lived when I was 20 years old. I hadn't learned the kinds of lessons one learns by living through struggles, working through relationships, and just surviving life and all the junk it throws at you.
"Not having time to write" has meant that I've had a full life. I've been given opportunities to learn, to fail, to grow.
Without my life experiences, I'd have nothing worth writing about, even if I had months and years of unlimited writing time stretching before me.
All the years of changing diapers, working at assorted minimum wage jobs, cleaning my house, cooking, grocery shopping, washing dishes and clothes, working on a marriage, being a mother...all those things have been necessary parts of making me who I am.
As much as I hated some aspects of my life while I was living them, I know I wouldn't be complete without them.
I should never feel robbed or cheated. I should never complain about all the time real life has taken from me.
Those years have been a vital part of any writing I ever hope to do. Just as necessary as pen and paper.
That time has been invested in the school of life.
I've doubtless earned my PhD by now. :-)
