Finding myself

Yesterday, I had some time to sit in my car with no TV distractions, no computer distractions, no kid distractions.  It was just me, my knitting and some paper and pens.  And, while I was sitting in that hot car staring off into space, I kept hearing "find what you love to do and make money doing it."  But, my problem has been that I've forgotten what I love to do.  So, I started making a list:
 - write - I do enjoy writing, but I feel like my creativity has been blocked and I'm unable to find a story.
- computer work -I enjoy being on the computer.  I enjoy typing and creating on here. 

And, that's where I stopped, because then I started picturing myself as a writer.  What would that look like?  I saw myself in a big room with a table near the wall of windows and shelves upon shelves of books behind me.  I saw myself in my writing room (or at least the writing room I someday hope to have).  There were some flowers and lots of yellow and white.  And, I felt so happy.  I felt content and joyful in this scene.  It washed over me like that was supposed to be my life.  I don't know, perhaps I'm reading too much into my imagination.  So, I tried another scenario.  What would my life look like if I were a teacher.  I mean, I went to school for teaching, so it should be what I want to do, right?  Well, when I imagine myself as a teacher, the only thing I see are my girls.  I see me standing in front of a classroom, but the only students there are my two daughters.  And, my heart fills with stress and panic and anxiety.  And that's when I realized, writing is what I do for me.  It's mine.  It doesn't matter if I make a single dime doing this, it's mine.  Teaching is what I went into for my family.  And, I think that's why it's never worked out. I think it's why the jobs I've applied for recently haven't come to fruition.  I'm not meant to be a teacher.  That's the career that I chose because I thought I should.  I thought it'd give me time for my family.  But, I've realized that I need time for me.  I need time to sort through my head and write whatever comes out.  And to not be afraid of what is going to come out. 

Do you ever have irrational fears?  Oh, I do.  And, I know it's incredibly irrational, but it still scares me.  I'm afraid to write about anything bad happening because I'm afraid that it will come true in real life.  Isn't that silly?  Do you think Dean Koontz and Stephen King have these fears? 

But, yesterday, as I was sitting in my hot car, something major changed.  I realized that if I am going to be a writer, I can't do it in my house.  Oh no.  I need to spend hours away from the house watching people.  The character that I am going to write about is based on a woman who was walking her dog through the neighborhood.  I started thinking about who she was and where she worked and what was her family like.  And, BAM!  There was a story line forming.  I used to think that I had to wait for a character to speak to me with their story.  Now I know, I need to seek them out.  And, I need to tell their story.  The good, the bad, and the ugly. 

And, I feel more at peace with this decision than with any that I've made in a long time.  This feels right.  This feels like me.  I've missed me.