When I die
I would be sad
if
I never wrote another book
I never took a shot to be on stage
I never found out what my voice could sing
If I never danced
madly and freely
as well as partner work
and choreography
If I never found out how
soft and strong and
small and smart and
sweet and sexy and
beautiful
I am, and I could be
If I never wrote my blog
created content
that one day would reach out and impact somebody
and help them feel
something.
It doesn’t always have to be better, because sometimes it hurts or shocks or surprises before better happens.
And it doesn’t always have to be impactful and serious, because sometimes a joke might work.
What I’m trying to say is that I want to create work that makes life better.
I might not sell another home.
I would like to, of course, sell and help many people buy beautiful and wonderful homes.
Just, in the litany of things, this might hurt less if it doesn’t happen.
But if I never understood real estate and the market and money, I would regret that.
If I never owned my own home,
had my own space.
Developed a sense of style and personality.
I know that I will do what I love.
I will do it without waiting for someone to tell me what to do.
I will figure my way out, I will somehow know what to do.
It’s the heart that leads, so I hear,
and the mind that figures out the problems along the way.
The people who know me all seem to tell me that my passion is in writing.
Thing is, am I ready to accept it?
💖🌧️
Image of a pocket watch half-buried in the sand by Annette from Pixabay.
