I got a lovely compliment from a friend today. After reading some of my blog she said that I was a great writer. I was sincerely flattered to hear this, because I don't think of myself as a great writer.
Throughout my life, whenever I was faced with having to write something, I always mastered it. I got plenty of compliments about my writing throughout the years from teachers. But I lack something very important that makes one a great writer.
I don't love it. I am not passionate about writing. Rather when I have to do it, I groan and get down to the task. That is probably why, despite being told I was great at it, I never did anything with it. You have to love what you do, and since I didn't love it, I didn't want to do it.
I took up blogging and journalling in recent months to keep track of our lives, and all the wonderful details of the boys lives that I am likely to forget. But I am surprised with how well I have kept up with it. I do look forward to writing things down, not because I enjoy the actual writing but because I love the memories that it will give me. I started keeping track of events because I know that my memory is going downhill.
But writing has given me something back as of late that I didn't expect. It is helping my memory. I didn't realize that it was lack of any kind of writing that was turning my brain to mush. When I was in school or working I was forced to challenge my brain in certain ways that I haven't done since becoming a mom. NOT that what I do isn't challenging, rather it is more challenging than anything else I have done in my life. But I was not using the same parts of my brain for putting thoughts together that I used to use academically or occasionally professionally.
So now my writing has so much more meaning for me. It is an exercise in memory. It is a challenge that I don't get from day to day life. And while I still can't say that I love it, I do love the way it makes me feel, so I suppose that is something very special. I hope I will keep it up for a long time yet.