I am a writer.
Although most of the time, I feel more like: “My name is Rena Willis, and I’m a writer?” Or, if I’m honest, the sentence would read: “My name is Rena Willis and… (ugh, if I wanted to be a writer, I would make it a priority. I would write every day. I would have journals full of ideas. I would have stories. I would have something to say. I would… stop this self-doubt and destructive internal monologue and write).”
I tend to rant.
Perhaps if I say it enough times, like the affirmation at the beginning of a 12-step program, I will begin to believe it. I will affirm who and what I am — not to the world, but to myself.
Of course, I am a lot of other things. I am an Educator. I am a mother to two beautiful teenage children. Although, if I am honest again, most days, that sentence would read like a mantra: “I can survive this. I can survive this.” Or maybe it reads: “They will survive this. They will survive this.” I am a wife, a student, and a teacher. I am a Southern California girl by birth and a global citizen at heart. And, I am here, a member of this beautiful community of writers.
I am a writer.
I write — desk pushed against a window framing a placid pond. Lazy Iguanas and laughing children often peek in the window. On my left is a lukewarm cup of tea and a dusty journal buried somewhere amid the clutter (one of these days I will organize, just… not today.) It’s easy to get distracted and I often find myself just watching — the breeze dance, the water ripple, the Iguanas posture, and the children play.
I may have to dig through my things to find a pen or paper. My journal may be buried, and my tea may be cold. But my imagination is always near — never dusty, always charged, my constant companion.
I am more than a noun. I am a verb. I write. Full Stop.
My name is Rena Willis, and I write.