If I knew I could, I would…
I open up a dusty folder and hidden among virtual folders of essays and short stories I find this: Goals. I search for the document labeled 100 Things to Do Before I Die and sigh. I’ve ignored this list for two reasons: 1) I think, “It will happen or it won’t,” and 2) I don’t want to be disappointed when it doesn’t.
Among my dreams lie these: backpack through Europe with the man of my dreams (aka future husband I have yet to meet); adopt a child; write a book; get published; learn to fly a plane; intern with TOMs; run a race; tour a city by scooter; live in another country for more than a year.
Many of them I know I’ll get to one day — like running a race or living out of the U.S. I know I will. But what I really want to do… if I knew I could, I would write a book for all these unformed sentences and sporadic thoughts who are screaming to escape from the confines of my own mind. These thoughts are cramped in such a small space, unshared, hidden, anxious. They’re ready to be set free.
But how? What would I write? Would others read my writing? Would they care about what I have to say?
Would it matter?
I could probably write a book, but I don’t know where I would begin.
Prompt from Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama.