I stand at the back door, blocking the opening with one leg to keep the baby from crawling out, and yell again into the drizzle.
He’s not coming in.
I call again, louder, knowing he’s probably hiding under the swing set and pretending not to hear me despite the five minute warning I gave him ten minutes ago. Even lunch doesn’t motivate him when he’s in the middle of something. It’s cold and wet out there, the baby is cranky, and I don’t feel like finding my own shoes to go drag a protesting seven-year-old inside against his will.
I wonder sometimes if this is just how calling is…if my own calling might be standing at some imaginary back door, figuratively hollering at me and waiting for me to come to my senses and go to it. I call myself a writer, but I only write on the margins, in the places where I can squeeze words in the way I shove the chopsticks into the silverware drawer on either side of the silverware holder, because there’s no room for them where we keep the everyday stuff, the knives and forks and spoons of our lives.
Will it always be this way?
I’m not sure, but I admit that I get uncomfortable thinking about not writing, thinking about ignoring the calling and going off to do something else. Whether it ever turns into something I do more often almost doesn’t matter. If I don’t do it now when I can, my head will explode.
So, as a way to test that out, and because I need a jump start back into writing in this space, I’m connecting with the other brave, crazy people who have pledged to write every day for the month of October. All the posts will be here on this page. And because I need every spare minute right now, I’m following the prompts over on Kate’s blog, Heading Home (the same place where you can find Five-Minute Friday every week).
Here’s to callings and following them, even if we have to squeeze them into the tiny spaces on the sides.
See you tomorrow.
Find the rest of my 31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes here.