Today was my first Monday working as a full-time writer from home. I’m here. I did it. (If I sound as if I’m standing atop a mountain, it’s because that is how I feel.)
My uncle asked me yesterday if I knew when I wanted to be a writer. “That is the earliest memory I have of myself. I wanted to be a writer before knowing how to write.”
Now I get to write, for a living, from my home office–my most favorite room in all of my house.
I have bookshelves on my left filled with titles all hand-picked by me. Behind my monitor are three cork boards mounted to the wall with quotes like “Begin Anywhere” and “Good things come when you follow your passion” and “Work while you have the light. You are responsible for the talent that has been entrusted to you” pinned across them. There are also postcards with my favorite writers on the front, Joan Didion, Patti Smith, Anne Rice and a photo of my dad on his wedding day.
There is also an old horoscope I copied to keep in my line of vision whenever I write. It reads:
LEO (July 23-Aug. 22) Kiss the back of your hand and remember a moment in childhood when you felt the perfect joy of being at home in the world. Give a gift to a river, lake or ocean. Treasure the unique shape and contours of your beautiful face. For just 48 hours, be inflamed with the hypothesis that your soul will live forever. Imagine that your place of power is where the tree joins the earth. Playfully lower your expectations all the way down to the bottom, and tune in to the shattering sweetness of life exactly as it is. Put yourself under the protection of the raw elements. Write an epic three-page autobiography while sitting in the pitch dark. Seize the power to create magic that has always seemed impossible before.
I started writing this post about standing atop a mountain before I had received my first assignment. I got as far as transcribing my horoscope when I got an email asking to cover this story: Google Maps Takes Users to the Highest Mountain Peaks in the World.
It appears things are aligning in my favor.