I have taken two writing classes since January. It has been really fruitful. I am trying to figure out all things – WordPress vs. Substack, whats my Niche, when to read, what to write, do we need more writers, do we need more writers on certain topics, am I adding to the noise … the list really goes on and on. I went ahead and tested the water with Substack last week.

Below is my first post on Substack.

Today I turn 37. I am sitting in a Starbucks with my free drink- an ice cold Mango Strawberry Lemonade Refresher with half the syrup. A Joan Didion book, my green writing journal, Airpods, white Owala, and laptop on my small wooden table. A quiet man on my right side, and a sweet table of men, possibly old friends, in their 70s with kind smiles- such warm company on my left. I hear the faint mumblings of orders and conversations with a constant hum of unfamiliar music in the distance. It’s a good day.

In my 36th year, I watched friends slog through deep sorrow, I watched my resilient Nana’s health decline rapidly, and I lost my beloved father (throat clinches). I also solidified a regular workout routine and established a daily scripture reading rhythm. I cried a ton and matured half as much.

When Dad was alive I created with wood- using tools he bought and knowledge he shared. A friend and I created a little side hustle. It was a beautiful season of cultivating and learning.

A few months before Dad’s cancer became relentless I started writing. Instead of wood, I am now driven to create with words. It’s easier and harder. Easier in that I can fit it in a little better with our daily rhythms but harder in that it takes so much time, discernment, and confidence. In 36, I had a small amount of each.

I can’t be sure what 37 will bring. I can’t be sure where writing will take me or when the desire will end. I feel unsure there is space for me here. And I question that the world needs another writer. I know that it seems to me the adults my age need no more information.

I want to write, but I am still working on the why. I think it’s out of necessity right now. Ages ago I wrote to inform and confess. Maybe now I will write to relate and encourage. I have book ideas, poetry, and really a constant flow of ideas that at times feels like a sweet, gentle burden that I must forsake regularly.

Anyways I’m here. And it feels good. Now I must get back to those crazy kids and kind husband I mentioned in my bio. We have 37 years to celebrate. It’s a good day.