What do you heart?

What did you love to do when you were a kid?

You can probably name something that you once loved to do that you don't do today. What passion did you once have that you don’t pursue any longer?

I think back to sixth grade, Hancock School. My teacher, Mr. Jubett, asked us to write a poem about war. I was very excited about this task—I loved poetry. I had written dozens of poems on napkins and scrap paper, and even had a large boulder in the backyard where I sat to think poetic thoughts.

So, I very enthusiastically penned a poem about war. It had soldiers in it, and death, and thunderous grey sky and clouds.

The day our poems were due, I climbed on the bus and sat with my friend Rebecca. We pulled out our wrinkled papers and shared our penciled words with each other. She told me mine was good. But then she read hers.

Her poem used a chessboard as a metaphor for war—painting a picture of the historical struggle between white people and people of color.

It was stunning.

Profound.

So much more sophisticated than mine. It made mine seem childish.

So, I gave up writing for 20 years.

Seriously?

One stupid poem on a creaky school bus when I was 11 changed my life path?

Pretty much.

I had had some early encouragement about writing—I had had a poem published in Children’s Digest magazine when I was 10. (That masterpiece included the following lines: “What will I have, a Snickers bar or a Milky Way? I have a little hungry in my tummy—but I’m getting so fat it really isn’t funny!”.)

Even with that excellent slant rhyme, I gave it up. Writing wasn’t practical. It was hard. It was emotional, exposing, exhausting, and I could never get it perfect.

So, I stopped.

For two decades.

Crazymaking, right?

But as much as I tried to avoid it, writing was always calling to me. My first job was cleaning rooms at the prestigious MacDowell Colony, where writers were penning novels. I subscribed to Poets & Writer's magazine. I took writing classes in school.

It’s hard to avoid something you love. If you don’t find it, it will often find you.

I went to a writer’s conference one day—and met some writer friends—ended up forming a writer’s group—and joining an MFA program—and teaching writing—and eventually, writing poetry and essays— and now this blog.

Writing makes me happy.

It brings me joy.

I finally admit I have to write to live.

So, now, whenever I meet a young person who says, “I would love to be a sculptor, but my parents tell me I should be an accountant,” I pull them aside and try to knock some sense into them before it’s too late.

I tell them they have to listen to what resonates on the inside. If there’s something that feels like it deeply matters to your soul—even if you don't know why—you must follow it.

No matter what anyone else says.

There’s a reason that passion comes from a Latin root pati, which means “to suffer.” Can you imagine a whole lifetime passing not doing what you love?

So, in the end, I finally gave in. I tell the world that I heart writing.

What do you heart?

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