Just a few weeks ago I had all the time in the world to write. I patiently awaited the words to form; my notebook was ready when they rolled around to say hi. I didn’t need a space for the words; I lived in them, with them. The days revolved around them. Just a few weeks  ago I woke with the sun and spent the early hours writing. Doing the thing you love most is effortless when it feels like you have forever.

And before I knew it, I awoke with the sun and rushed to get work done. There’s not enough time in the day to do the planning, planning, planning, that needs to get done. I do the work with a grateful heart; the year ahead is promised to be everything but boring. A first year teacher amidst a global pandemic — the thought is so outrageous, but I’m about to live in that reality. I find it truly amusing. I’ve laughed more than I’ve cried; I think that means I’m handling it with grace. I’m ready to learn a lot, and probably fail a lot too. But as I plan and plan, I can’t help but mourn the time I’ve had to develop my writing. Time existed for me to live in the words. Time existed for me to create.

I have the great gift of working with words this year. Forever and always, I wanted to work in some capacity with books, with writing. Until this spring, I didn’t think I could create words of my own worth reading. I found a passion that I didn’t know existed. But it does. It’s one of those passions that finds its way into the stomach and clenches until you pay it attention. I didn’t know if I’d be teaching this year, but I have the incredible gift of teaching kids words: how to understand them; how to string them together in unique and incredible ways; how to question them; how to love them. I think my discovery of writing will guide me this year, especially on the hard days, the days when I don’t know what I’m doing or if I’m making a difference. I’m ready for this year, but I can’t help but wonder and worry about my own writing. 

I’m afraid this thing I’ve been tending to will be left for dead. Knowing how I procrastinate, I think it’s a valid fear. More than that though, I’m confident that teaching will only better me professionally and personally. The things I’ll learn this year will shape my writing, even if my time doesn’t revolve around it anymore. I’m also confident that when we feel so strongly about certain things in our lives, we make space for them. 

So I’m making a promise to myself as life gets busy in the fall again: I will make space for my writing. It may not be as often as I’d like. I may not be able to write for my blog each week. But I will make time. And whatever time I make, I’ll show up with gratitude and a willing heart. And when I feel angry for not having enough time, I will remind myself that I’m being shaped, and I’m growing. That nothing good is rushed. Dreams take time. 

Though fall won’t be like the rest of them, the season is as busy as it is cozy; I think that’s just as true in a pandemic. In a few weeks, we’ll be wondering where the time went — we had so much time just a few weeks ago. Before we get to that point: what promise do you want to make to yourself? What do you want to make space for? Dreams take time, but we have to make time to work towards them. Find space for what you love. And when you find it, keep that space sacred, holy. Honor it in every way and hold onto it for dear life. One missed session becomes another, and before you know it….