Last week I had a lovely chat with a fellow Francophile. We’re both Australians, both writers, both hopelessly devoted to France. She published her memoir a few years ago and has just interviewed me for her blog. We talked about France and the usual writer things and somewhere in there she asked me what I wanted from writing. I blethered a little about writing for the joy of it, not thinking too much about where I was going with it.
This is utter rubbish.
And bless her, she called me out on it. To my absolute horror and eternal gratitude she said something like, ‘oh no, you’re not one of those “if I can help one person I’ll be happy” writers and don’t try to tell me you are.’ It was a beautiful moment because I say that all the damn time, but I do care. I do have ambitions, goals and dreams.
Why do I say that I don’t care? Why do any of us? I didn’t think I suffered terribly from imposter syndrome around my writing, but perhaps it was masquerading as humility, as a casualness that belies my passion for what I am doing.
The morning after my conversation with my Frenchy friend, my guided meditation offered the mantra I own my impact. (I use the Insight Timer app and this is the meditation.) This past week has seen that many synchronous moments that I didn’t even flinch at this one! So now, along with my affirmation ‘Only that which is for my highest good can touch me’ I’ve been using the mantra ‘I Own My Impact!’
So it’s time to change the story. I am trying, really trying, to be of service and to find my audience, to find my peeps. I’m owning it.
Feature Photo taken at Byron Bay, Sunday 7 June 2020.
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