Writing in the Rain
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moonbeams.

1/24/2016

4 Comments

 
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Memories are like moonbeams; we do with them what we will.
​
There's a point you reach in life where you aren't satisfied with the work you've been doing.

A day comes when you want to influence others with your...

[insert here]

art. writing. work. job. volunteering. music. photos. words. time. effort. life.

Then you work hard. Really hard. There are good days. There are great days. There are tough days.

You pour your heart out. Working. Trying. Doing.

That's when it happens.

The doubt.

Ohhh. The doubt.

It's that evil little thing that creeps in when you least expect it.

Like that person in your life when everything is going great and then they remind you of the faults in your past.....

Hey thanks!

I really needed that right now.

It's times like these I like to remember happy times.

Life forming times.

Times that make me laugh.

Like that time when I was in high school and my dad asked some of us to do some yard work in the back of the house. No big deal, right? But we hated it. It was Washington State. It was cold. It's no fun being cold.

Well, I was 16 and that magical, sunshine and cupcakes exterior of mine slowly started to fade and I looked around at the two other siblings that were raking leaves.

We just happened to be the three adopted ones of the family.

I slowly started to formulate a plan. A way for us to retreat. The words started floating into my brain and I said:

"Hey. Notice something? We're the only ones out here working. The adopted ones.
You know that's why they adopted us right? To do all the work."

Now before I continue, I want to share something:
I was adopted by very loving, giving parents.
This was a pure coincidence that the adopted siblings were working outside.
But, man was I going to capitalize on it.

My sister looked at me with wide eyes and clearly wasn't understanding my sarcastic humor.
​My brother wouldn't look up from raking the leaves and simply said:

"I know. I was made for hard labor."

Not even a second later I hear a voice behind me. My dad.

"Violet. In the house. NOW."

Needless to say, I had a good talking to and reminder of my words and how they affect others.

Every word. Even the words I don't think do anything: will.

I'm also reminded that every great thing is prefaced by hard work.

It's those times when I don't think I'm doing anything effective and meaningful; I'm slowly trudging forward one step at a time.

It's that doubt and fear that shows me what I'm meant to do.

I won't forget that.
​
I hope you don't either.

4 Comments

    Violet Conner

    writer from the pacific northwest. mother of 2. lover of books. 
    film. chocolate.
    I sprinkle magic pixie dust on words.

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Photos used under Creative Commons from swambo, levork, Jeff Kontur, pellesten, Mannia&Titta, Wonderlane, Lee-yoshi, marc kjerland, Tearstone, Trishhhh, Jamie McCaffrey, breakfst, wwarby, Helgi Halldórsson/Freddi, Andreas-Eckhardt, Corpuzzle, Courtney Emery, nikowyow