My not-so-secret-anymore passion

We’re one-third of the way through NaBloPoMo already!  Yay, fellow bloggers! Way to go!

Today’s prompt asks, “What is your secret (or not-so-secret) passion?”

One of my life-long passions has been secret to other people, I suppose, because until the past few years, not many knew that I’ve always wanted to be a writer.

I’m a person of simple tastes, and I’m really not that interested in a lot of things that our culture deems necessary or entertaining. 

I do have lots of interests, though, most of them pertaining to what I would call my top five passions: my faith in God, my family, nature, food and…writing.  Those things pretty much make up my life. 

I don’t care about owning a lot of things.  I’m not very fashion conscious, and the thoughts of more than two or three shopping trips a year pretty much makes me cringe.  I mean, I go to the grocery more often than that, but I don’t shop for the fun of it. 

I don’t really care what kind of car I drive, as long as it gets me where I’m going.  I don’t like shiny new matched furniture sets.   I like scaly paint and rust on stuff. 

Yeah, I know I’m pretty weird. 

I would say I’m pretty much equally passionate about all of my passions, although my writing has been the slowest to become visible. 

I’ve always been a reader.  Many times when I’d finish reading something, I’d think, I wish I could write something like that.  I wish I could touch people’s hearts and change their minds.  I wish I could tell entertaining stories. 

I used to think I’d like to go to college and major in English. That sounds like a pretty worthless thing to do if you don’t intend to teach—unless you want to be a better writer. 

Which I did.

So, off I went to college at the age of forty-something.  My last semester, our two daughters and I were all college students at the same time. 

Yeah, I know that’s pretty weird. 

But secret passions often lead us to do weird stuff. 

And I’m glad I did it. I’m surer than ever that I’m a writer. That’s want I want to be, and that’s who I am. 

Some folks feel the need to make music, some to paint or photograph images. I feel the need to write.   

Many don’t understand this about me.  To some it must seem like a waste of time to sit around and think on paper. 

Why don’t you quit your dreaming and get a real job?  I imagine that’s what people must think. 

Maybe folks don’t ever think that.  I’ll bet most simply don’t give a hoot, but I’ll have to admit I ask myself that question pretty often.  Then I go write.

I write in my journal, and I write newspaper features and columns, and I post blogs daily during National Blog Posting Month, which I share with my friends on facebook.  Sometimes I’ll attempt a poem or a short story. 

Every now and then, people take pity on me and read my stuff. 

Whether or not I have an audience, I’ve got to be a writer, though.  I feel like I haven’t really lived life until I’ve processed it on paper. 

That’s just me. 

Maybe that’s pretty weird, but that’s my secret passion.