As a writer, I’m prone to being consumed with my own words, my own thoughts, my plotline. I’ve written out “my story” no fewer than a dozen times. You, too?
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” we were asked as children. And we gave an answer. Few of us turned out to be the princesses or presidents we predicted, however.
Later in college, we wrote the scripts for our own romantic comedies. Or maybe yours was a drama or even a Disney fairytale. At any rate, we chose the leading man, the best gal pal, and the perfect wardrobe for our plot and sat in the director’s chair ourselves.
Revisions in red, we reworked the script when it didn’t go as planned and we married the boy next door instead of the devilish guy in the souped up Mustang. Still, we held our stories in tight grips, stubbornly convinced that the marriage, the raising of kids, the career and the world travel would surely go according to script.
But somewhere along the way…sooner for some, later for others…we realize that we are not the authors of our own fate. And if we were, the story would not have been nearly as interesting. So we push away from the typewriter, lay down the pen and close the book. We hand it over to the One who has been carefully crafting a masterpiece all along. We get out of the director’s chair and walk onto the set, ready to take direction rather than give it.
And we really live…for the first time. Free. Beautiful.
This weekend’s playlist pick is by one of my favorite artists, Francesca Battistelli. And it inspires me to be the art rather than create it.