I might do other things that earn me more money, but at my core, I’m a writer. It’s what I do authentically and most importantly what brings me joy.

I’ve written two books, a script and several blogs. All from the heart. All various subject matters that I have either experienced or have little to no knowledge of. I plan to go all-in with writing, so I founded my own publishing company. Random House, I am not, (nor do I want to be) but I feel good about it even with all of the dis-ease that comes with being an entrepreneur.

I didn’t know how to be a mother and nearly 2.5 decades in, I’m still doing it and still learning how to do it. Along the motherhood way, I gained the varied skill sets of a janitor, doctor, fire fighter, chauffeur, therapist, quasi-athlete, seamstress, personal assistant, enemy, mediator and what often seems like a permanent financier. I hope to do it til my last breath -except the financier part, eventually, I’d like my wallet back.

It used to be not knowing scared the sh!t out of me. Now, not doing something whether I know how to or not is what I live in fear of. More and more, I question what failure really is. Right now, fear = inaction.

Recently, a family member was released from prison after 30 years. In nine months, he went to school, earned a professional certification while working full-time and started his own business. I look at him, inspired and think I ain’t got no damn excuse.

I don’t care if I don’t know. I’ll find out. I’m not always supposed to know til the journey leads me to it. Paralytic fear only releases us when we start to move. I’m good with not fully knowing what I’m trying to do because I’m doing it. Doing is a verb. It’s action. When and if there’s a time to be still, I will.

I’m old enough now to know I’d rather live and feel my way around in the abyss of chance than see the proverbial light of possibility on my death bed.